The Flame Just Flickers And Flickers And Flickers

Our souls in trance, our shadows dance
by the flickering light of the flame
cast on the kawayan walls
by the only kingki alight. Red and bright,
Apuy Flura’s eyes hold us all as she strains
to look at us, her apos, one by one: straining
to remember the unfamiliar
small faces waiting, attentive, unmoving.

Hushly breathing, I move my small brown feet
and the silent creak of the kawayan floor competes
with the shushing of the winds, teasing the dry leaves
that tomorrow will fall, scatter, and rot on the ground:

The mango tree is old and dying.
Its thick dark barks are now cracking, peeling.

We look at Apuy Flura. She stares back at us.
We wait, and wait and wait but no one speaks.
The night is dark, like the kingki soot that collects in our noses.
But the flame just flickers and flickers and flickers.

......................................................It is time to go

.......................................................................home.