I Am But Migrant

Midlife is porthole to the past; vignette to the future.
– Chito L. Aguilar

I am but migrant in transit thru Time.

I AM BUT MIGRANT
(In Transit Thru Time)

upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes
astounded at such an expanse sublime
i see the moon and the stars in the skies
it is truly then that I realize
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

on my desk I work and on bed I play –
paper-sheets of white and bed-sheets of lime
all bear my mark and my score of the day
by my hands of toil and my feet of clay
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

between the distinct lines of poems I write
i waver on words of rhythm and rhyme
and when I falter between wrong and right
i seek a vision that I may see light
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

between womb and tomb is a voyage brief
the fleeing years, fleeting dears… now, my prime
youth’s egress, midlife’s ingress, what relief –
and yet, I fear illness and old age grief
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes
then wonder and ponder when is the time
my Maker calls me and closes my eyes
when He pounds the gavel and casts the dice
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

© 2008 Chito L. Aguilar

A Place Called 55

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8 thoughts on “I Am But Migrant

  1. paper-sheets of white and bed-sheets of lime
    ….and words sublime 🙂
    Thank you for wise words to make me think and thank you for sharing your precious photographs 🙂

  2. Ah, S. Chito…such beauty in our words! Laughter does not end at 55, or 60, or even later…it only ends when we sour on the world around us, and that will never happen with you, one who appreciates all its beauty with the wonderment of a child! Muchas gracias for the photo montage, mi amigo!

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