Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Keyhole Views of the World of Children

Dr Abe V Rotor

We take a casual view of a child's discovery;
     new to him of what we have long forgotten,
and remembering, we go back into the past  
     and become children once more, and again.

Naive and shy Mimosa the plant, cowering;
     playmate of children, begging, rousing
it not to droop, and yet it does to their awe;   
    surreptitiously behind their back, rising.

Children rub elbows with God and saints,
     talking to them not in prayers like us;
wishing for toys and gifts and our welfare,
     in simple joy, innocence and trust.

Take this child to fairy land,
     where beauty is everything, 
the butterfly, the garden, 
     the breeze passing by.

Instant swimming pool a broken pipe made 
     in the middle of a busy street;
who cares in the midst of a thousand laughter?
     please, the repairman can wait.

A world in a tent is cozy and warm,
     yet hard to be alone and to sleep;
for it's bigger than the whole world,
     the sounds of the night that creep.

Two kids the best of friends,
     talking in common language, 
the language of affection,
     they alone in their age.  

Sled to the stars with their dreams
     with the bullock their spaceship;
don't hurry, only in childhood does
     the impossible come true -
just don't sleep.

Flower girls, not forever to stay,
     up to the altar light and dainty;
time marches, their steps grow heavy, 
     and someday to matrimony   

An errand she does, a stream to tread
     passing by a lazy carabao herd,
to take to her grandma a loaf of bread
     in a once upon a time story heard.  

A thousand mascots will not save the world 
      of creatures caricatured, and children lured
to fantasy land, and waste money and time, 
      soapbox humor and art stunt their prime.    

Who are afraid of the dinosaur?  Children do.
     As they grow, they'll know, for heaven's sake!
another huge meteorite may strike the earth
     again and man is likely to meet the same fate! 

No guts no gain, to win the palo sebo game,
     so a hundred and one game best performed; 
not the prize though; the cheers, the triumph,
     matter most - the boy now a man transformed.  
Water, water, everywhere, and a lot more to wish;
     no classes, no parents calling, no letup of rain;
prayers won't work for rain to stop and ruin joy,
     the world rejoices in the frolic, in sweet insane.  

A crude springboard, the vast sea a pool;
     three kids make a world of their own; 
if the world is a stage, only the waves clap,
     its echoes to far away blown, unknown.     

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