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A beautiful, haunting kundiman I heard,
Which floated in woodlands like song of the bird,
I looked for the singer, with surprise I saw
Ethereal vision in moonlight's soft glow.
Oriental Madonna as radiantly fair
As gleaming of moonbeams that played in her hair,
Her golden brown beauty which tropic climes kissed,
Wore Philippine raiments of gossamer mist.
She stood on a hill with the wind in her hair,
Her kudyapi strumming as she sang a sad air,
How truly pathetic were all of her songs
Her sweet face reflected the tale of past wrongs.
I thought she was young, not more than tweny one,
I shivered to learn she had many a son.
Their names I recall not, save these few so far,
Rizal Bonifacio, and the young Del Pilar.
By loving her dearly, brave sons died for her,
While breathing her dear name on dying lips sere;
My lady was sobbing her woes to the skies
While singing her stories with deep tender sighs.
A chilling night wind blew a sharp mighty gust
The figure then vanished in streams of stardust,
Like shimmering fireflies, the atoms took flight,
Once more, silence reigned in the bright starry night.
-
Luz Dayrit Navarro
