FOR JESUS Q. CRUZ

By EDWIN M. CORDEVILLA ©

 

Have you not been a father to me

in those hollowed halls, who once told me

`fly only if you must,’ and the wings

of courage geared towards the sky

gliding through the challenges

of the real world. Have you not been

caring enough to note the errors

I’ve committed, and to embrace

the broken tunes with your own voice

until fragments of thoughts

become true singing. Have you not been

a friend to me, a helping hand

to this terrifying Frankenstein monster

and yes, you believed because you believed

somewhere within this shadow

is a human heart. Have you not been a kin

to me, whose blood leaped

at my first spills of ink

as if the pen holds

the blood of our kind. 

Am I not a father too,

who rejoices at the sight of beginnings,

or a friend to you who would

feel the hurt when arrows cross your heart.

Am I not a kin to you, yes,

`your thrice-blessed kin’

who, together with the others, connect the universe

with traces of our own blood. 

Am I not the singer, too,

who sings the lyrics of your voyage

here at this very moment

when your death refuses not

to vibrate into immortal life. ©

 

 

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