I know you will be gone
when the first rain falls,
in this far-away land where you briefly worked.
I know I could not hold you for long,
Your mind is always not here,
Your eyes told me so,
When we have our small talk,
in the open.
I grieved for us
for us, my dearest,
because when you leave
at the first sign of rain,
I will be left with the bones
of my ancestors, here in Barangay 8.
Glad you offered a candle for them, last Easter,
because that was for me too, bringing you
to my eternal sleep.
Good night my love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem