Like any other grandmother,
You were there, when they needed you,
You had your wrap of goodies ready,
To hand to every grandchild in his journey.
Like all our beloved grandmothers,
You had the sweetest ripened mangoes,
The tastiest rice cakes, patupat and “suman”,
Ever tasted by anyone.
Like the best brewers in our tribe,
You perfected the favorite taste,
The finest essence for a wedding banquet,
Our wandering people have always dreamt.
Like the most hardworking grandmother,
Your piggery is clean, you poultry an envy,
Your garden of petite flowers would always
Welcome visitors, relatives and me.
But unlike the others, you are a very dear friend,
Who can lend an ear, or open up and share,
Your many woes or secrets, like a young girl,
Excited, interested, welcoming, waiting, waiting…
How does one define grieving
For the demise of a beloved,
Even if it has come, or keep coming,
And we never get over the pain,
Of losing special people, again and again…?
Perhaps, we’d better just reinvent,
The meaning of its pain,
To something like shedding, growing,
That such changes are a part of life
And that, as we keep gaining, we keep losing…?
A Grandmother Can Be a Friend
Like any other grandmother,
You were there, when they needed you,
You had your wrap of goodies ready,
To hand to every grandchild in his journey.
Like all our beloved grandmothers,
You had the sweetest ripened mangoes,
The tastiest rice cakes, patupat and “suman”,
Ever tasted by anyone.
Like the best brewers in our tribe,
You perfected the favorite taste,
The finest essence for a wedding banquet,
Our wandering people have always dreamt.
Like the most hardworking grandmother,
Your piggery is clean, you poultry an envy,
Your garden of petite flowers would always
Welcome visitors, relatives and me.
But unlike the others, you are a very dear friend,
Who can lend an ear, or open up and share,
Your many woes or secrets, like a young girl,
Excited, interested, welcoming, waiting, waiting…
Grieving
How does one define grieving
For the demise of a beloved,
Even if it has come, or keep coming,
And we never get over the pain,
Of losing special people, again and again…?
Perhaps, we’d better just reinvent,
The meaning of its pain,
To something like shedding, growing,
That such changes are a part of life
And that, as we keep gaining, we keep losing…?