Vietnam Through a Window

By Dr Abe V Rotor

Through the window of an airplane,
I see a shroud of smoke turn into rain;
This is Vietnam now.
Its pains may linger, its wound a scar,
Blessed are its plains, golden in the sun.
Blessed are its people, victims yet victors
Of a David and Goliath war.

Through the window of the mind,
Through the window of a Western eye;
The world was blind for long, but not now.
As the one-eyed Nelson defied order
Cupping the wrong eye.

Through Milton’s window when lost
The sight, clearer is the view, deeper,
Deeper is the sense of seeing,
And the sense of being.

Through the window of a posh hotel
Over tree tops gracing the view,
Swaying and singing in the breeze,
While the city is buried in mist.
Wait, wait for time with ease.

For time knows all, cures all, forgets all,
Yet indelible is the lesson of mankind
That lust never last, it ends in fatal fall.
And pain endured is glory’s gain.

Through the window of ones soul,
Has spirituality lost its meaning?
Ask the Vietnamese toiling the fields
With a grave by his side.
Sans cross, sans tombstone,
Only a whisper of a name.

It is an old window I am seeing through,
My own, through a politics of disorder,
Greed and indifference, its spawn.
How can I raise a chin to greet you,
After you have mended your own?
I must have slept too long in comfort
And ease in plenty and play, in freedom,
Believing in a god I call Bathala,
Existential to my needs and caprice;
While you struggled for sanity
With a god by your side fighting,
And brought Olympus down.

I see you fighting again,
Opening your doors to conquer the world
With homegrown rice, knowledge and valor,
To win another war, another honor.

x x x

NOTE: Written in HoChiMingh City (Saigon),
as a visiting professor at Ho ChiMingh University of Technology, 2006

Farm Life Memories

Mural and Poem by Abe V Rotor

Rain and river meet where my life began;
A farm life to the old and the young;
The school, the woods, the field - all one,
Shielded from the other world beyond.

Ah, childhood is when nobody misses
Endless thrills as the sun rises,
Watching the herons stake the fishes,
Slingshot for simple prizes.

Stillness reigns around a kingfisher,
Reading rain from a dragonfly;
A birdsong, a nest owned by its finder -
Sweet early lessons to live by.

Conflict is solved in kites and fishing poles,
Hide-and-seek and barefoot races;
Faith in the seasons the sky extols -
Virtues that friendship embraces.

Peals of thunder break the afternoon,
Sending the fowls to their tree;
The boys catch the raindrops, and soon,
Across the field, dash home aglee.

Summer is short,rainy days are long,
Indeed a passing imagery,
For the young can't wait and all along
The years gone but sweet memory.

When and where in crisis and retreat,
At another place and time;
One rises where rain and river meet
Where the sun shines on the clime.

Freud and Jung long foretold, we know,
The seed that was and how it grew,
Like a man the child of years ago
In some log cabin - it's true.

x x x

Song of the Warbler*

 
 Dr Abe V Rotor

Tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et, tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et, tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et,
Tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et, tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et, tag-wa-tee-e-e-e-et-
(Refrain)

Tig-wa-too-tee-e-et, tig-wa-too-tee-e-et, tig-wa-too-tee-e-et,
Tig-wa-too-tee-e-et, tig-wa-too-tee-e-et, tig-wa-too-tee-e-et-
(Refrain)

Ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r,
Ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r, ter-r-r-r-r-r-r-

From a branch to another he repeats his song,
Crispy and clear as light of dawn,
And if trees are not enough and streets
Are wider than fields, on wire or antenna he perches,
And sings still the song of his ancestors.

Shouldn’t I wake up with a happy heart,
And spare a tree or two for his art?

Acknowledgement: Photo. Common Tailor Bird (Orthotomus sp) Parkes

Smokestack by Day and Night

These shots were taken during the 24-hour operation of a sugar mill in Batangas at the peak of milling season. The smokestack emits gases, particulates and steam harmful to health and the environment. Photo by Matthew Marlo Rotor, Canon EOS 350D, Sigma lens 70-200 mm.

Sailboats

Painting and Verse by Abe V Rotor

Let the sailboats play in the wind
And water, let alone an old boat
At rest, sitting on rock like an old man,
Standing guard over the young, who too,
Shall someday play the same old game.

x x x

Red Mushroom

By Abe V Rotor

You glow at the edge of decay,
To herald birth at life’s last bend;
"Death, be not proud," you seem to say,
"You're but a process, not an end."
x x x

This red mushroom growing on an old log creates
an aura of fairytale. Sacred Heart Novitiate,
Novaliches, QC. Pentax SPII, Takumar lens 1.4, AVR