Will anyone look for that One Alone?
When this book on loan
has been returned
to the Library of Lamps as all its oil is burned?
When the waves retreating
have finished erasing
the messages I whispered
those etched with sobs unhindered
on the sands seemingly numbed
on the seashore of your heart succumbed?
Will anybody wonder what’s going on?
The nameplate’s gone
on the face of the closed door
of that room on the upper floor
that a while ago was Altar of Magnum Opus
of the tiring writer’s stylus
and Tabernacle
of a cramped leg muscle
of that voice that preached Darwin’s epistle.
The gong’s now muted
Just yesterday it was calling unrelented
upon fellow believers demented
The sun now starts to peep
As stars bid goodnight to sleep
The frail shadow shall lay down, no scent of frankincense
in the tomb of forgotten replies, with reminiscence -
of a hundred “wait till tomorrow” in any sense,
a thousand “just a minute” in any tense
“see yah later”, for a thousand “Whens?”
“soon . . .”, and now just silence . . .
Life leaves a million lessons.
and yes, I, we, will always remember . . .
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 3:29 AM UTC
Will anyone look for that One Alone?
When this book on loan
has been returned
to the Library of Lamps as all its oil is burned?
When the waves retreating
have finished erasing
the messages I whispered
those etched with sobs unhindered
on the sands seemingly numbed
on the seashore of your heart succumbed?
Will anybody wonder what’s going on?
The nameplate’s gone
on the face of the closed door
of that room on the upper floor
that a while ago was Altar of Magnum Opus
of the tiring writer’s stylus
and Tabernacle
of a cramped leg muscle
of that voice that preached Darwin’s epistle.
The gong’s now muted
Just yesterday it was calling unrelented
upon fellow believers demented
The sun now starts to peep
As stars bid goodnight to sleep
The frail shadow shall lay down, no scent of frankincense
in the tomb of forgotten replies, with reminiscence -
of a hundred “wait till tomorrow” in any sense,
a thousand “just a minute” in any tense
“see yah later”, for a thousand “Whens?”
“soon . . .”, and now just silence . . .
Life leaves a million lessons.
and yes, I, we, will always remember . . .
Dedicated to the memory of Dr. Victor P. Gapud (18 October 1943 - 29 December 2017), an esteemed mentor, colleague, entomologist, taxonomist/systematist, nationalist, teacher, scientist
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