whisper in my ears a promise
to remain the way they are.
Ten years from today, shall they be decked
in the carelessness of love
that they are clothed in today?
The full bright moon bathes
the dirt-coated blades of the coconut tree
that sits in its uninterrupted, continuous existence,
just like that grandpa in the balcony,
sitting, rocking on his armchair.
The bridge runs over my head
but the barriers that line the roads
with signs begging for people's patience
are now draped,
with rows of tuni bulbs, that illuminate
the rusting metal underneath the peeling blue paint.
And the navy waters under the
purple, benevolent sky
hum that tune now too familiar
(endearing?) to my ears.