This Carabao has gone home to the village
Come to me, my melancholy baby
Baguio Ifugao winds that blew away
YOUR POETRY breathing words
INTO SMITHEREENS OF CARABAO DUNG
kEARney Street manong
Manilatown Igorot
Ifugao Mountain traveler, Tagatac -seeker
Dancing and sucking between the juices
Somewhere between The fish head AND THE Ox-TAIL
LIES THE ANSWER.
BENEATH THE WInTER SNOW, maybe.
Or wait until the white snow melts in the spring,
about ten in the morning when dogs have deep thoughts.
The spirit that he celebrated lived in him throughout.
The spirit of the manong,
Of the giver, the helper, the survivor, the never sell-out, the dreamer, the provider, the visionary, the joie de vivre, the compassionate, the human.
The spirit of the manongs and the manangs, the manangs yes,
Particularly of that time
But eternal and universal at any time, any place…
Like you, my brother, even though now, you,
manilatown carabao have gone home to your village.