to Mufti Ismail Menk
When grenades rumbled in Lanao forests,
I thought the dream would remain a dream
In slumbers during nights of sweat and pain.
The nights when more eyes were rather awake,
Peeking at open windows, than asleep and calm.
Now those eyes are fixed onto you, sparkling
Like dew over leaves when the sun rises.
I am the eagle observing everything.
In this place where a Maranao sits with a Tausug,
Where a Kaagan shakes the hand of an Iranun,
Where a Maguindanao smiles at a Sama,
They all listen to you, minds refreshed
About the holiness of Ramadhan, the month
Where blessings rain. And though they
Already knew, they still look like kids
Listening to the war stories of their umpos.
My bapa heals his wounds, from shrapnel
And loss. Soon, he will bear the scars,
Dust on skin wiped off, and he will make
His way back to us, flashing a smile of relief.
You may not meet him here, yet in Jannah,
We shall all be united. And we will keep
Dreaming of unity until we get there.
