By FATIMA B. BADURIA
Editor’s Note: This piece is one of the works in a four-part series in line with the Dapitan 2022 theme Hintayan. All works are written by the Flame‘s Letters staffers.
With a snap of my fingers
and a flick of my hand,
my fingertips emulate the glaring sun,
as warm and ablaze.
If I wish, they would spring up in rows,
bright yellow daffodils, red tulips
pink peruvian lilies, and white daisies;
they would shift directions at a glance,
the wind and tilt of the raindrops,
the sunbeams and tree branches,
the clouds and their shade below
as I recline on a water oak leaf,
at ease in the morning breeze.
Then out of the blue came vicious,
thundering footfalls
trampling on my charms and wishes,
as I run.
If I will it, they could cascade at once,
cloudburst from the darkest heavens
towards the intruders on their arrival,
but countless moons have passed since then.
The gnawing bitterness clings to my throat,
the days long gone linger in my mind while
the dreams of tomorrow continuously fade,
as I hide in the depths of shadows,
waiting for a glimmer.
Because the years that dragged on
waned the flare from my weakening hands,
once well-versed.
So if you catch sudden dwindling lights
as you hear a snap here and there,
it may be me, who waits and wonders
if I can hold them all again:
the liberty,
the bliss,
the magic,
as wisps of light flutter in my palms
then slip away into nothing. F
