Where The Flow Goes
This is a weekend that I move about
The house disrupted by lack of power.
Cables are splayed about by the roadside
Like improbable snakes
In the clutter of leaves, the old and venerable
Acacia trees shorn of imperial branches,
And the men still wrapped up in their labor
To bring back the light.
This simple lack somehow has brought me back
To the essence of living, where contact
From the world is severed
And I get to see through the spirituality
Of the trees shaken by the strong winds,
The condition of every other being,
And rainclouds moving heavy
And portentous, hanging lower and lower
Across this land of fragile dreams.
In the evening my eyes strain to trail
The thoughts of ancient souls,
Poets and mystics, through the flicker
Of a candle light.
I seek solace from their humanity
And I believe I can grow to be content
With the basic lack of things like power,
Like home, like desire, like self.
One incontrovertible law pervades this existence,
A leveling that always yields to the flow,
Nothing extravagant, nothing destitute,
All going in one direction.
Published in The Sunday Inquirer Magazine (Philippines, 11 August 2002)