The Old House..... Poem by RIC BASTASA

after arriving from the u.s.
dodong went straight to the
ancestral house in milad, it

is quite big, with two storeys,
made of hard wood, and nipa roofed.
it stands upon a hill overlooking
the sea far away from the city.

he opened the front door which
squeaked wanting to perhaps greet
him and tell a horrible story of
what really happened before they
left the place for good after
ten long years of wanting to forget.

it is a shame of the family his
father said before he died. This
must be kept a secret, something
which he carried to his grave.

dodong understands that pain is
always there, coming like a stab
in his chest. He can hear the cries
of her two sisters, the loud screams
of his mother. He was then a small
boy before those three monsters.

it was the time of their fall.
He was tied to a chair where mother
was killed. The whole town knew.
But it was still kept a secret.

Happiness is a hypocrisy. Silence
is an option. Leaving things slipping
like water from one's hands.
Now he is back with nothing to do
but to pray and forgive. This is not
home. This is a graveyard of family's
tragedy. After a few minutes, he is
now ready, to burn this house.