Brother, I remember the old games we play

Hide and seek on evenings when mother is busy
Before we sleep
It is you who knows to hide so well
And I cannot always find you
You win
I lose and you take pride of your skill
In hiding away

There was this time in our lives
When we both hid
And fought and stood on some idealisms
Like rocks against the sea
Like towers standing against cyclones
Like the tree against the winds of
Change,
I failed, I hid and fought and I was caught
To this renewal
But you brother has fought hard enough and
Hides with all the skill you have
They never found you
We never found you

Come out brother now, in peace
Mama is dead; there is no use of these fights
Times have changed
Our thoughts have become useless
Come out, brother now,
The land is finally ours
We shall start to clean and plow.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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