A Promise (for Cathy)
This feeling, friend
Is etched by the constancy of surf
Upon the solidity of rocks.
This, being in the heart
Mocks the moments
And defies time’s rigid rule.
Think not, therefore, of my intention
As mere scribbling on the sand
Of life’s shifting shores.
It is, I assure
As enduring as the outpouring of wonder
Painted in the caves
Of an innocent age.
(I found this in my folder for the Palanca Writers Workshop I attended in June 1996. I wrote this for a girl, obviously, that I courted at that time. Sadly, I never kept that promise.)
Sentry
When it’s your turn, you wait
Until the morning star
Is close to the moon.
You sit
Tap the trigger guard
Slap the mosquitoes
Squint in the dark
At the vast expanse
Of rugged land, gloomy air
That is Bocawe.
The eyelids droop
At times.
But Do Peryong’s hut
Is filled with a dozen snores
And the blackboard
Leans undisturbed
On the bamboo wall.
Then you remember you’re god
At least for the night.
And gods should stay awake.
–Candido O. Wencesla
