the old houses of Vigan
the old houses
claim their right
not not be changed
they shiver when
you touch
any of their
walls
they fear that you
may soon change
your mind
and proclaim
that beauty lives
in new
creations
you ask yourself
if truth is truer
when tested by the
fading of time
or its ultimate
disappearance upon
the cajolery of
recent promises
the truth frowns upon
you
you are late
and you walk upon the
shallowness of
those reddish bricks
the old houses are howling
with the winds of
change
they have outlived fire
and played on those
earthquakes and
floods
you walk away
and you simply let them be
beautiful in their own ways
magnificent
in those dresses of
cracking paints
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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