colors of time
The Road
Ever On
Man of
Return to


19990105-1146+08 19990316-2131-08
flowing forth from opened gates
    the passengers rush in with the blowing wind of the air-con
eyes still bright with the light of the dawning sun
    the tears haven't touched them yet
    the ghosts have yet to wake

The rush turns into a trickle as the laggers shuffle past
    and now you wait your turn to fly away and leave
as your memories start to harden
    like the drying clay of a bornay in Vigan
        amidst the narrow streets and clatter of horse hooves
    like the cement of the EDSA LRT, as stark gray pillars stand where
tanks rolled by
    or like the limbs of a man executed, the needle still in his arm
        oh let ye he who art sinless - 
    I dare not judge

Disembodied voices will direct you
same as anywhere
        Never know the difference whether you are coming or going
    or who's telling you what - just voices, voices, and talking heads
and what is home, home, and whither do I wander?
    To a home that I have never known
        or the sandy shores where my roots cannot find water?
    You may regret the ties that bind you
        though they were always there
But sometimes it's better not knowing
    blood links you here, blood flowing through your veins
    blood shed that you might live
    blood tainted by your father's sins
The generations will pass, though the debt is still unpaid

    It gets harder to leave, every time you come back
And so we stand, one by one, ready to file past the gate
through the final corridor, each step echoing
One last look back, what did you hope to see?
    The hatch closes, the engines rumble
the land shrinks beneath,
    but your eyes are closed
        unwilling to shed your tears.
© 1999 by Victor Ganata