By Chito L. Aguilar
Here were rice fields fed by the rain
Caressed by sunshine, whose grains
Were so golden upon harvest time
Here were vegetable farms enriched
By volcanic soil, tended by families
With stalwart hands till harvest time
For generations, folks tilled this land
Near the foot of the volcano, source
Of their income every harvest time
Here was a long, mighty dike, like train
It held flowing waters from breaching
The fields to warrant each harvest time
Here was green lushness all-year around
With coconuts, bamboos, shrubs, trees
They chorus in melody every harvest time
Then, Rolly came swiftly . . .
Destroyed the dike with rampaging mud
Razed the fields with winds, silt and rocks
Ravished the land, folks and their houses
And then, no more harvest time.
(San Francisco, Purok 7)
November 1, 2020
The author standing in a place ravaged by sand and volcanic debris in the aftermath of Typhoon Rolly.