The wounded
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Part of The Carolinian
- Title
- The wounded
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- Jhe jtypte-Mtudl by PACIFICO YAP After the meal they share an apple, the old grandfather and a little child. The hour for sleep must wait Until their ritual is through. She picks up the fruit, as rosy as her face, and gives it to him. His knife removes the peeling in bright ribbons and divides it into two. With love he gives her a piece. He counts 1-2-3. And they eat happily. OUewiMy, by AGUSTIN P. MENDOZA The early Christmas morning Mass was ended But I remained inside the church on my knees Remembering one Christmas When mother and I heard Mass together. How she used to explain things to me. How she used to teach me . .. With misty eyes, I tried to prolong The poignant recollection of that Christmas long ago When I was too happy, excited, starry-eyed, Having all the candies and balloons that Mother gave. New groups of people came in, So I decided to leave. I went out sad, but brave with hope, As if I heard the voice of mother full of love. A P • A . G .. 0 R F V . E . S T Jhe Wounded by CORNELIS MALO A BOY AT THE WINDOW: his mind wanders somewhere in a cruel world that oppresses the soul. A MOTHER WITH A FARAWAY LOOK: so bitterly is her heart wounded by the news that her only son was killed. The world is now but a smoky plain where one by one the wanderers fall, their blood sucked out by a specter that is war. We who slay at home have no time for pity for our eyes are always looking out the window. “Shall the specter reach us?'’ In this our world, people become smaller haunted by the untamed specter, as if life and war were but one. A boy, a mother slay at home: both victims of war. Xcaa Vended fob Qfotfdtvnad by ALFREDO AMORES I. Christmas Tree Oh! that 1 were a Christmas tree And you the tinsels and cotton snows Upon my green boughs. II. Thanks For December Mother thanks you very much Dear, dear December For giving me to her. O&deddC&n, by DOMINADOR ALMIRANTE A stranger am I A hermit in a metropolis With a desire gnawing me, Which shall stay a desire Until I unravel life: a labyrinth, a mystery, a dance. Suphinx^ darned by PAL JOEY Lately Love was dead in my heart. The memory of withered flower brought drought into my world. I was all alone then, sighing sighs of grief then, bewailing my fate when you came. Rains come again now. Flowers bloom afresh now. All's green anew now. Spring is nigh. Page 10 THE CAROLINIAN
- Date
- 1959
- Rights
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