The Strange Song and other poems by Rosie Caristea, Philippines

The music never stops from sun-up to sunset,

a long frightening sound from the nearby thicket 

a haunting cry that wrecks my unstable nerve

the saddest melody from a lonesome bird.

I grew up with the sound for decades on the farm

the bird who sings the song is bigger than a hen,

it looks as innocent as the lovely sparrow

but her throat could produce the longest cry of blue.

Blending with the chirps of Munyas and Orioles,

the lonesome singing bird dominated the air,

nestled through the branches of the old Bunyan tree

there she sings her song, sounds horrible to me.

Her music is the cry of those that in mourning

her message of lament is quite disturbing

while I tend to my Mom, moaning through her pain

the horrible sound adds chills to my hope that sinking.

I've  never been a fan of the superstitions

the folklore is just myth, long been proven wrong

but this lamenting bird got my nerve to ponder

if the bird has something that men should try to hear.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

The Aftermath

The gates open up

and the gushing of winds

carried the sound

of anguish

one feared to hear.

It slammed its fist

to the innocent moss

craving for the rain--

barely hanging on the wall.

And I, 

I cannot bear to see

so I looked away,

only to hear the raging flood 

devour the tormented souls--

including mine.

It crushed the spirit

of both the victors 

and the few lucky ones,

until the fire of hope

is no longer warm.

            ♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Two Different Summertime

It was one summertime decades and years ago,

She lost a precious gem by giving up on you,

She chose the foolish ride over a lifetime gift,

followed by endless nights in prison of regrets.

The summer adventure became days of monsoon,

the prolonged rainy days turn the nights into gloom,

 little voices speak haunted her every dream

deprived her of sleep, but who deprived whom?

She lived long enough without the peace of mind,

the guilt-struck conscience keeps gnawing in her gut,

the memories remain--the images of blood,

 seeing the haunting eyes in every newborn child.

She accepted the life, to live in servitude

until the twist of fate completely changed its course,

another summertime brought the unexpected.

she met a stranger while painting the sunset.

For the first time in years, the nightmare left her dreams,

the agony of guilt completely lost its sting,

two different summertime from mourning to morning--

the lifelong chain of guilt has finally broken

®©Rosie Caristea

@Rio Ramilo

Pencil sketch:Jurine B.Garcia