This poem was inspired from Serafin’s accomplishments throughout his lifetime. Before moving to Canada, he used to work as an editor in the Philippines. His son now lives in Arizona as an electronic communication technologist, with his family; whereas Serafin is at the Bow View Manor with his wife living in the opposite end of the building.
We share the same love for words,
Serafin and I
Just as I write to get lost in its intimacy,
He used to rewrite to be found in the words of others.
And just as he was speaking to me,
I got lost thinking how he pulled his family out of a country like the Philippines,
Where poverty,
Terrorism,
Corruption,
And public killings,
All came as a second nature to the nation.
Manila had been his home for 50 years;
This is where his wife, Aurora, taught as a school teacher,
And he edited letters, words, and fonts
To make sure his family had dinner on the table every night.
I fell in awe of his courage when he mentioned landing in the new world with hopes,
Leaving his motherland behind,
Which had reduced to only hold the bitter taste of rejection in their hearts.
No family, no friends,
Just he, his wife, and their son –
They made a home in a strange land
where their customs were lost,
their mother tongue – broken,
And beliefs – misplaced.
I wondered if he ever thought of this investment as a waste,
Before what the pride and joy of his son’s success brought him.
I wondered if his son now sees the satisfaction living in his irises,
The way I did.
When I reached out to touch his fingers as a gesture to show my appreciation,
Of having me and showing me that life holds so much more than what our naked eyes can see;
My eyes stayed fixated on his hands because I could tell they had worked hard,
I wondered if they held together the four walls to keep his family from falling apart,
When the dream of a new country was swallowing them whole.
His hard-working hands have come to be the most artistic thing I’ve ever seen,
Because to me, they were a masterpiece that represented passion and hope.
And there are no words in my vocabulary to articulate that kind of beauty,
Which has helped me realise that some things are so infinite,
They could never be continued with a comma,
Nor ended with a period.
As a goodbye, I would like to say that I could draw, paint, and write,
But he has made an entire world for himself and his family,
And for me, that is art and poetry to my heart and soul.
With sincere gratitude,
Zohra
