Ruben's Mansion Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is not a house
in fact, it is a white mansion
placed on a one-hectare lot
surrounded by a well-manicured
garden and flowering shrubs
and fruit trees
one that everyone cannot but
always admire

when they come
and watch
Ruben's mansion
taking 2 years to finish
and 12 million pesos
in expenditures

as you go inside
the glass door opens
leading you
to a living room
twice as large
as my own house
in a remote barrio

the furniture are carved
from molave trees
shining with shellac
and glistening
with opulence
the motif of this
house

the kitchen is huge
four times as wide
as my garage
accommodating only
my second hand car

and the garage
is one that can handle
a party for the night
of ten tables and
fifty chairs and
a hundred people

one wonders
why Ruben has to make
a mansion like this

sheer taste perhaps
or his money
simply searching for something
to buy and spend
looking for some
vents

did he remember
how as a child
the family was shamed
because visitors
from Bohol
in 1970 could not
be accommodated
and they all murmured
how poor they were?

it must be traumatic
for Ruben
as a child
and it must be some
trauma
that molded his dream
to build a mansion
like this?

(or am i just
jealous
of his ambition)

i need not ask some
more
his lips are sealed
he is dead
and he has no way
explaining
a sensitive matter as building
a mansion
while the rest still
thrives on
mediocre houses and
unfinished makeshifts

and no one lives
in this house anymore

perhaps some dreams
still live here
dreams unfulfilled


and once fulfilled
these dreams now
refuse to die

a mansion is still a house
and when no one lives there
need i say

that it is never a home
and after this party
tendered in the name of Ruben
we all go home
and then think for once

i must build a home
and for the meantime forget about a mansion

or just a house.