{"id":2428,"date":"2015-10-28T12:42:28","date_gmt":"2015-10-28T16:42:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tambulimedia.com\/?p=2428"},"modified":"2023-07-24T15:04:25","modified_gmt":"2023-07-24T19:04:25","slug":"memory-a-poem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tambulimedia.com\/memory-a-poem\/","title":{"rendered":"Memory – A Poem"},"content":{"rendered":"
A Poem written by Rene J. Navarro<\/span><\/p>\nMEMORY<\/strong><\/h1>\n
\n
<\/del>Waking<\/span>
\nup in the empty dark-<\/span>
\nness of a bamboo hut<\/span>
\nsomewhere<\/span>
\nin the hills far<\/span>
\nfrom the old home-<\/span>
\ntown: At three, that\u2019s<\/span>
\nthe first picture<\/span>
\nin my memory.<\/span>
\nAlone, without<\/span>
\na blanket<\/span>
\non a cold morn-<\/span>
\ning, the sharp<\/span>
\npassage of a fighter<\/span>
\nplane, and wet<\/span>
\npants.<\/span><\/h2>\nA month or two<\/span>
\nlater, perhaps a year,<\/span>
\na vegetable<\/span>
\npatch on the side<\/span>
\nof a hill and an under-<\/span>
\nground cave dug in the red<\/span>
\nearth<\/span>
\nfor if the shooting<\/span>
\ncame. There were green<\/span>
\npainted rattan<\/span>
\nfurniture, a sofa and<\/span>
\nchairs, I can still see<\/span>
\nthem. And farther back earlier,<\/span>
\na bamboo and nipa hut on the side<\/span>
\nof a mountain and vegetables<\/span>
\ngrowing.<\/span>
\nPerhaps it was<\/span>
\nlater: there was<\/span>
\nthe burst of light<\/span>
\nfrom a cannon<\/span>
\nand the resonant<\/span>
\nblast following.<\/span>
\nthere are no<\/span>
\nclear <\/span>faces, just objects<\/span>
\nand places and sounds<\/span>
\nand the long<\/span>
\nwalk barefoot on a rough,<\/span>
\nhot road<\/span>
\nwith my older cousins<\/span>
\nDan and Letty<\/span>
\nto the camp<\/span>
\nwhere a Japanese<\/span>
\nsergeant always fed<\/span>
\nus a bowl of rice<\/span>
\nsoup.<\/span><\/h2>\nStill later, towards<\/span>
\nthe end of the war,<\/span>
\nmy mother calling<\/span><\/h2>\nmy brothers and me<\/span>
\nacross the field<\/span>
\nto eat the yams<\/span><\/h2>\nshe cooked<\/span>
\nwith a thick coat-<\/span>
\ning of melted brown<\/span>
\nsugar.<\/span><\/h2>\nIn this landscape<\/span>
\nI did not<\/span>
\nknow who<\/span>
\nwas fighting, why<\/span><\/h2>\nthe bombardment and the<\/span>
\ndogfights in the sky.<\/span><\/h2>\nI couldn\u2019t read<\/span>
\nthe signs<\/span>
\nsaying Japan or America,<\/span>
\nwhich cannon or plane<\/span>
\nbelonged<\/span>
\nto which side.<\/span>
\nBut the fear<\/span>
\nI knew.<\/span>
\n50 years<\/span>
\nlater<\/span><\/h2>\nthe fear<\/span>
\nremains.<\/span><\/h2>\n<\/blockquote>\n