Moving Day

MOVING DAY, a haibun

by Victor P. Gendrano

World Haiku Review, August 2013

watching me watch

the remnants of my past life

my daughter whispers

it's alright Dad to be sad

on your moving out

On my daughter Juliet's insistent demand that it's time for me to enjoy my retirement, I moved to a senior community place euphemistically called Leisure World. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.

Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom's slightly open door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.

A paramedic examined the wound and, obviously to lessen the gravity of the situation and put me at ease, he proclaimed with impish grin and studied flair that it was only a cut and no stitches are needed. He then cleaned, dressed and bandaged my head wound, while softly humming a tune.

Blurting repeated thanks while escorting him to the door, I glimpsed a shaft of early morning light gradually piercing and bathing my sleepy neighborhood.

no time nor place

could weaken the memory

of my first love

Ode to my father

ODE TO MY FATHER
by Victor P. Gendrano

Gnarled hands reveal
The toil of countless years,
Unceasing care in raising us
From carefree days.
Warm them on mine, let us,
In peace, relive the bygone days
With no regret. Let's not lament
The rare instance when we snatched
From fleeting time a few minutes
Then being one, sharing one's soul
In man-to-man's togetherness.

Oh memories!
Time-warped and distance-dulled
We seem only to dwell on those
We like and dump away the rest
As if in so doing we wash our guilt
Of things undone, unspoken words
Which might haunt us in our sleep.

Your frail body, which now is sapped
Of all strength lay bedridden
Creased brow, etched lines
On aged face my hands
Nor love, cannot erase.

Hearken, I'll sing our song
When as a child you soothed my fears
I need it now to steel myself
Still sorrow, and sad swan song
Inchoate yet escaping
From my burdened breast.

And when the thief of life
Finds us apart, take heed
With you my thoughts, my love
My memories remain always
As with Mother who you precede
Rest peacefully, peacefully rest
We commend you to heaven's grace.


In my book, RUSTLE OF BAMBOO LEAVES, but first published in Heritage magazine, Vol. II, No. 1, March 1988.

Summer advent

summer advent

the warmth of affection 

from family and friends

Thank you all who have visited me in the hospital, sent in get-well cards, and your prayers and concerns for my speedy recovery. i'm blessed in having a very loving and caring family who attend to my daily needs. With the help of God, I am on the way to recovery.

sunny day

the discharged patient kicks

the deflated get-well balloon

out of his way

Fish that got away

Tagalog

nakawalang isda
palaki nang palaki
sa tungga ng alak

English

one that got away
the fish grows bigger
with every sip of beer

In my book.
Rusrle of bambbo leaves