Mt. ProvinceA poem by Imanoel Tala
The misty skies veil this hinterland paradise, a space in time undreamed of
in the smoky streets and crowded marketplaces of blighted civilizations.
Heaven must possess this land for it is not only crowned with silken clouds
but blessed so well with golden-hearted folk and the crystal songs of springs.
Each pine tree a tiny peak, each terrace a step of grace to heaven’s gate,
each stream a flow of dreams from the Great Spirit on high: a visual offering.
An eagle in the haze eagerly flaps its wings as if to taste the wind, awake to life,
before it glides in circles above the purple canyon, feeding the dance of survival.
Every soul has a sanctuary in this restful panoply of ancient design;
every mind has a mat of meditation in this haven of final resort.
Many depart from our land in search of sights they have seen from afar
when right before them lies the same beauty heaven has bestowed all nations.
Does the flower ever bloom to get the recognition we seek for beauty?
The flower must bloom indeed to give pleasure like we ought to our creator.
Does the mountain ever rise to seek the respect we seek for ourselves?
The Earth must stand on its feet and heed the call we simply fail to hear.