by Kamila More Cabisada
Greenness of the forest in my head
Transports me to another time,
Neatly cut grass drenched with dew
Under my feet it tickles and calms
At the same time
Like the mountains of my childhood.
Baguio was incomparable, a mistress
Towering in beauty, holy stillness
Powerful in its subtle healing
Of ravaged souls, unquiet minds
The woods were a chapel of pristine
Delight–they still are
They surprise me with gifts wrapped in
Green and red
And ask me how I am
I say I am fine most of the time
I am at my best when He is around
He changes me.
Fire becomes rain
Black becomes white
Orange becomes blue
Rust becomes inox
Dust becomes flesh
Tears become joy.
This is my altar
My daily resting place.
(October 27, 2017)