Words by Clarisse P. Marquez
In the Abish, ocean and stars don’t meet.
The vessel is Grand Wana.
Sixty five years and one little ship,
A voice said, “Forward the ship!”
“Where to, my Lord? It sinks too deep.”
Seek Juan, the grand old man who flings his sword,
vext at night he roams without a word,
The gulfs of world war strike in gray,
Bring him forth, he conquers the way.
Not too little but I was too far,
When I wasn’t too far, I was too little.
Halt the vessel, the waves are blundered
A voice said, “Forward the ship!”
Thundered and trembled we bleed,
Mustered one equal art of noble deed.
To explore uncanny the ocean of mine,
Even kings can travel but not back in time.
Little remains, the vessel spoke to me.
Stars don’t rest in fleeting memory.
THE BARRISTER 