PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Lying here in my hammock under the mango tree

Looking at the sky so blue, white pigeons flying freely

Wind blows over my face as I close my eyes

My hands under my head, cradled in dreams of sweet lullaby.



I'm coming home, Nueva Ecija...



The aroma of brewed coffee and hot pandesal from grandma's hut,

Laughing of the kids running barefoot to a nearby school.

The ringing of the bell from the carabao milkman's bike,

And oh, the smell of tobacco from grandpa's pipe.



I'm coming home, Nueva Ecija...



Farmers greeting each other, walking here and there,

Mothers are sweeping dry leaves everywhere.

Roosters coo, ducklings quack,

White lilies in the pond, purple orchids and green moss on the rocks.



I'm coming home, Nueva Ecija...



Grilled tilapia, salted eggs and two cans of sardines,

Fried rice, buro and red tomatoes served on banana leaves.

Having lunch, sitting on abaka mat near the ipil-ipil tree,

While colorful butterflies and dragonflies flutter around in glee.



I'm coming home, Nueva Ecija...



My little sister running through the golden rice fields,

Brothers are playing bongo and guitar.

Mom slicing a big, round watermelon,

Dad singing an old love song.



As I lie here on my hammock under the mango tree,

Looking at the sky so blue...

I'm home, Nueva Ecija.