by CZERIZHA KAIZEL S. ADZUARA
Here, the foliages sing in lush green. Dense with tenderness from the calloused hands
that set the tempo of the rivulets down to earthen roots, the hands that never let the leaves
turn into multitudinous folds— untuned, scorched, and cracked underneath the blazing sun.
The branches creak under the whip of the wind, while the fallen leaves released
from their limbs rustle. A lyric of gratitude, to the calloused hands that opened
to embrace them all. The carpet between the concrete lanes succumb beneath
every stride as piano keys succumb to fingertips. With his hands, the conductor
holds the water hosepipe, a baton that calls to the greenery. The orchestra begins.
Then the students will listen, and they will sing the lyric of gratitude as well. F
