Home? Poem by RIC BASTASA

We were the children of poverty
And upon our shoulders lay the itemized responsibilities

As other children catch spiders
I was there repairing the leaking roof with papa

As others chase dragonflies and trap birds
I was there pasturing the cows and watching the carabaos

It went on and on even when i have become a man

As others went for the dance i was there cleaning the car
And scrubbing the floors into shining surfaces of pride

As others married the women of their dreams
I was there burning my eyebrows in the university of life

Everything i had i thought was a suffering
But Papa is right

My feet are on the ground
And then i have a house, a car, land, money, and a name

Except love and some things that money and fame cannot
buy.

I guess he is right, i have a home of the past
But the future is still dimly lit, a shadow of a wall

A smoke from the kitchen, an ash in the garden,
Stones and pebbles on my feet

I can never be complete, just like anyone else.