(For Monsignor Ping Molina, Tony Zantua, Gregorio Sarmiento, Sr. Beda Camacho, Grace Sarmiento Gabao, Pablo de Leon, Pedro Rojas, Jesus Torrente** & especially to Architect J. Romano)
There was a time
I could look at the sea
And be happy hearing the sea waves
String together
Melodies of nature
Along the shore.
But when you hear Bach
Mozart and Tarrega
Along with the undulating waves
You feel your pulse stop
You thought you heard a gasp
In your soul
Caressed by sea wind
Transported to another time
And place.
I suppose
This is how is how you say goodbye
To the island of your birth.
You recall the mountain range
You climbed
Picture the streams
Where once live shrimps
Jump from slimy stones.
You retrace
The coastal village
Where you were born
Retrace the footpath
Of your youth
As you emerge
Naked in the river
Of your past.
You recall passion
In naked bodies
And sketch them
When a simple touch
Was forbidden.
I suppose
This is the magic
Of music
When the sound of waves
Intertwine with the plucked strings
Of Tarrega
And they transport you
To the rarely seen landscape
Of Alhambra.
You play with memories
As you make do
With familiar shadows
Of your past.
It is a miracle
The sound of waves
Blend well with the rustic music
Of your bygone years.
I imagine concert
By the sea
At sunset.
I imagine intimate audience
In the seaside veranda
A quiet audience rapt in music
You remember the islanders
Who have gone to the stars
And with whom you shared your music.
You remember the quiet moments
You could hear a pin drop
As islanders listened
To Tarrega’s Recuerdos de la Alhambra.
Then you contemplate
The years
That will never come back
Again.
* * *