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POETRY: Guava Memories


Clambering nimbly up the guava tree.
On a sturdy branch perched comfortably
with the chattering galansiyang and tamsi.
Munching on a guava fruit, savoring the sweetness
while enjoying the cool caress of the gentle breeze.
Gazing lazily at the swaying green sea of a corn field,
innocent little barrio lad is at the top of the world.


Beside the old abandoned logging road, a path less trodden,
we espy a swirling swarm of buzzing bees busily feasting
on the flowers of a clump of guava trees growing wild
with abundant fruits ripe and soon-to-be-ripe.
Our small guerrilla squad takes a break in our march
to pick some of the luscious fruits and munch (our lunch).
Refreshed, we march on with the red star as our guide,
passionate young fighters dreaming to change the world.


Perched on the porch enjoying a steaming mug of brewed coffee,
having just finished with yet another book by Murakami.
And, gazing lazily at the small front yard, I see
a guava tree of the native variety that jogs my memory.
I smile to myself as I reminisce days of innocent childhood bliss,
and remember determined, endless long marches
with other passionate young dreamers of old
who followed the red star to remold the world.

Eric S.B. Libre
22 August 2015

Eric S.B. Libre is a Mindanawon freelance development consultant who has done some work in a number of conflict-affected areas of Mindanao and occasionally dabbles in creative writing. He lives in Digos City, and is proud to be a senior citizen.]

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