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  • RM#3 - The Breath of Sparrows

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    Benj Geronimo
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    The poet dreams of visiting their mentor who is resting in his bedroom. A large tree with colorful flowers stands outside the window, its branches weighed down by birds. The mentor does not need to name the tree for the poet, as in that moment their breathing is joined with the breath of sparrows in the tree. The poet thanks their mentor before leaving, with their footsteps drowned out by the flapping of sparrow wings.

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    The poet dreams of visiting their mentor who is resting in his bedroom. A large tree with colorful flowers stands outside the window, its branches weighed down by birds. The mentor does not need to name the tree for the poet, as in that moment their breathing is joined with the breath of sparrows in the tree. The poet thanks their mentor before leaving, with their footsteps drowned out by the flapping of sparrow wings.

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    © All Rights Reserved
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    200 views1 page

    RM#3 - The Breath of Sparrows

    Uploaded by

    Benj Geronimo
    The poet dreams of visiting their mentor who is resting in his bedroom. A large tree with colorful flowers stands outside the window, its branches weighed down by birds. The mentor does not need to name the tree for the poet, as in that moment their breathing is joined with the breath of sparrows in the tree. The poet thanks their mentor before leaving, with their footsteps drowned out by the flapping of sparrow wings.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
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    of 1

    The Breath of Sparrows

    by Jim Pascual Agustin


    for Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela

    So it has arrived, the news


    of your departure. Last night
    I dreamt I was in the house
    of my mentor, as a frequent guest
    who took a desk by the window.

    A towering tree with red


    and yellow flowers as big as hands,
    the breeze slipping between each
    petal finger. I went to his room
    to ask the name of that tree.

    He lay on his bed, resting


    with eyes closed but aware
    of the birds weighing down
    the branches, leaves caressing
    the roof. The breath of sparrows

    like his own. There was no need to name


    the tree, no need to name anything
    at all at that moment. I bid him thanks
    before leaving, my footsteps drowning
    in sparrow wings.

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