To The Dancing Faithfuls Of San Vicente
i do not really know what was it that made me cry.
by RIC BASTASA
I stopped somewhere in the middle of the crowd
who were dancing to the gong beats of
senyor san vicente in olingan.
how can a very disappointing life make you dance?
there were stories of course.
that woman cannot bear a child,
that man had three kids who died in a car accident.
the hunchback of this town has a wish for a healthy spine.
the old lady has no place to live.
and so on and so forth
these are all people with lamentations.
i am only knowing things on the surface.
they never allow me to go deeper because if i have
they will bleed some more and their drops of blood
become dry on the pavement
not everyone has eyes that see
meanwhile senyor san vicente keeps spreading its
plaster of Paris wings, white with its new paint
glossy and decent.
the dancers perhaps do not know the story
that he can be in many places at the same time.
what they know is that this saint is miraculous.
something amazing will happen in their lives
after the saddest sound of their dance steps.
sonorous, monotonous, by analogy it could be like
a scream for help,
for understanding of what
is happening to
and the eventual acceptance of their fates.
i do not know why i am crying.
I really do not know why.
i too, have a lamentation of my own.