in hypothetical primary blank state.
Blessed are the children
for they will inherit our home.
The child is about to receive
the outside impressions from this earth.
From terrorism and violence,
to politics’ fraudulent schemes.
From prostitution and its disease
to poverty behind progress.
And the scarce on man’s face
is lash of graft and corruption
and of human rights violation
of exploitation and discrimination.
I am on my father’s contour
in his life of his own culture.
He stressed himself on my individualities.
For he wanted his early verities
be implied to the descendants of my flesh.
But I have my own way
to build my own identity.
I wish I could be a buster
of passim and bureaucracy
of immorality and slavery.
Population explosion predicament,
sudden destruction of environment,
infantile, crime, drugs and harassment.
All these are for my only son,
Give nothing but the best of I can.
Jeopardized me in hard days of February.
Hear my prayers for salvation in sanctuary
with the balding priest lead the Holy Rosary.
One “Lord’s Prayer” and ten “Hail Mary”
and “Glory be to the Father” of every mystery.
But what has left for my only son in return
to keep all his dreams shattered in the end?
When could we talk, my son once again
even in a silhouette situation?
Maybe beyond this dimension,
after the obituary may have known.
I have deficiencies and shortcomings.
Fill it up with your unfathomable depth of understanding.
MY FATHER, MY SON
By Alex V. Villamayor