Goodbye, Gene Boyd

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

The cold fire in the sky has set
taking you along, 
one who must shoot that perfect
picture at a strange pier
where foreign boats had docked,
the glorious years marked
by smiling Tausug women and their braves. 

No venoms spewed then
from the land of vintas,
of quick hands that claimed
yellow pearls from the sea, 
a people’s pride for a town
hit by fire after fire
rising again, again.       

Yet, we know.
We know there can’t be answers  
to the shadowy aim ending your shoot
for having taken it all
sunset burning in your eyes
the framed glowing disc
only the mind can own.

No one could’ve guessed
how brief your life
on that log-bed at another time
the sinking sun on your hair;
and later waking up as the Piper,
Talaandig children dancing
before your polished lens
magical moments in the shadow
of Kitanglad.

As we grow old, new boats
Will dock again in Jolo’s pier
away from home
your young blood’s runoff
seeking an indifferent sea.
You have escaped the tyranny of time, 
We do not find anger in your wake.
     

Filed under : EDITION  -

ARCHIVES of September , 2005