Always on a Sunday night
Leh-ter-bey
Leh-ter-bey
Leh-ter-bey
Leh-tehr-bey…
Uncle sings long tunes
That travel the stretch of Guibilondo Street
His songs tumble in potholes
His melody reverberates
In the crookedness of the road
Hir-ayam, rock yah laika horicane
Hir-aya-am, rock yah laika ho-ri-ca-yin…
Sounds are rusty old jeepneys
That many a times Manuel, our neighbor Carmen’s son
Tries to hail with “hoy”
Wid dah children ob tamorow share da dream
Ob you en mey…
And each tire-screeching falsetto
Driven on the microphone is en route to heaven –
A vehicle for rain
Lessen to weend
Ob chaaange…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem