Lament
p. 76 · Read in the full issue
By Ata Ma'ta't
Emptiness surrounds me at the dawn of day, capturing me, reminidng me of my father's journey. He's gone, gone forever.
In his place I feel the thorns of loneliness; the erosion of a son's vision. In a new bare setting lies the Original Sin: bitter and sweet.
The morning dew is frightened away by the morning sun's rays; robbing the Power and the Glory that once nurtured this son's hope.
I have listened to your footsteps, ‘Masta’ Pastor; and taken your bread and wine, your incarnation, no more.
I have been to the four corners of God's house, singing, praying until my tongue was dry. No more.
How many hymns do I have to sing? Still the image of you, father, is buried underneath the earth of mortality.
Earth to earth, dirt to dirt, dust to dust.
I feel the warmth of the earth touching my feet, and hear the wind whispering, a mother grieving.
And in the end I see hope mirrored in my sister's tears, soothing, an echoing call. Listen: beyond FALEALUPO lie the dead. There, footsteps beat a tempo no man has heard.
"...beyond FALEALUPO lie the dead"