Aren't We Forgetful?
By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao
Beneath the sky, a garden lay,
Where dreams were sown in earth and clay.
By hands of old, its roots took hold,
A haven green, a tale retold.
Seedlings sprouted, tended with care,
A promise of plenty, a future to share.
But greed crept in, with careless stride,
Shadows fell where hope once thrived.
The caretaker’s hands, they thought gentle and pure,
Turned selfish, blind, to wealth's allure.
He stripped the soil, he drained the streams,
He shattered, generations' dreams.
Workers murmured, their voices low,
As fear took root where flowers grow.
“The garden fades,” their whispers said,
“The fruits now rot, the earth lies dead.”
Corruption thrived in seasons past,
Its shadow long, its lessons vast.
Remember the father brought soil to grief,
Yet, now his offspring leads as the chief.
The Senior has long been dead,
Though whispers of ruin and shame still spread.
Son vows to mend, yet shadows remain,
For history repeats, and lessons wane.
Yet gardens live when love is sown,
Not greed that claims it for its own.
It takes a spark, a voice, a stand,
To heal the scars upon the land.
Shall they bow to despair’s cruel art,
Or rise as guardians, strong of heart?
Together, they could tend and mend,
The garden’s tale need not yet end.
For every leaf, for every bloom,
Chase away the creeping gloom.
A single spark can light the way,
And turn the night to brightest day.
So will they fight for roots and shade,
Or let the garden's glory fade?
The answer lives in every hand,
To guard the soil, reclaim the land.
Admin's Note:
Epic and sad saga applicable to the recent times and events. Humans are just a cycle of how it was in ancient days.
