Waiting in Vain

The whish-whoosh of the wind
Dominating the sound in my head.
As I lay here picking the
Dry grass where I lay.

With my back aching and my but damp
Silently praying the moment would
Come when I’ll be able to stretch,
And remove the clinging leaves on my pants.

The wind is blowing harder now,
With the blue sky now tinted with red.
My neck stiff and my nose becoming runny.
Little flying pests clinging above me.

An electric current is running down
My legs, so I shifted my position.
But still, stubbornly holding my post,
Red tint now turning into bluish gray.

As the sky finally turned into a fine dark blue
With the winged-pests feasting on my red juice.
I was forced to realize that it has been long due
For me to have known what I ought to do.

Yet, here I am, firm on my stand,
Lying under the million diamonds
Peeking through the tree’s toothy gap.
My body aching; mosquitoes sucking my blood.


R.M. Sto. Domingo
19 July 2007