Gilbert Luis R. Centina III Poems

A part of me died when I was twelve.
I buried it in a soccer field.
There were no mourners, only weeds,
And three black cats, no crucifix.
...

Grandfather slept leaving in his wake
A family tree shaken and unsure.
Relations came, worried about money,
His wallet empty, exhausted for the poor.
...

I hear the choir-conversion
Wake senses through my ears,
I see heavenly vision
In the vista of a hymn.
...

Aquí, el vino aproxima a la sangre.
La uva es vid, ausencia de las hojas
Y el tiempo. Un hermano del trigo.
...