Callao Caves

Copyright © 2010 by Chester B Cabalza

Everyday I think of a white mountain in the valley
Like painting in my mind
Massive formations of limestone
But since the dawn cleanses the mighty,
Great length of the Pinacanauan River ¬-
A candid imagination:
Of riding in a flat boat and rowing
Together with my uncle,
An Itawes fisherman

The zest of these natural wonders,
Wholly fill my troubles
Watching red-billed kalaw birds,
And winds go by, looking at rock cliffs,
Climbing eerie chamber as simple glories.
Praying in one of the chambers
Where a little sacred chapel is built.
The grandeur of stalactites
And stalagmites…

I wonder the scenery of Callao Caves
Possesses me the spirits
Of great Itawes ancestors
In the depth of my soul, while
Looking at the magnificent caves of Peñablanca,

The natural wonder illuminate by dashing sunlight,
Echoes of voices bang my ears,
The yells that disturbs the tranquility
With my fears,
Of losing the silence!
Of losing my temper!

The scorch of the sun in the afternoon,
Hinders not Anthropologists to come.
And watch a row of small huts,
Study a group of fisherfolks who turn
To be tourist guides.

Another strangers – a team of Archaeologists
To excavate the mysteries of the past,
They claim the caves as their site.
So rich! So rich!
The artifacts (pottery and stone flakes)
The remains of the beasts
(Elephas and stagedons)
From Pliocene to Pleistocene epoch

And when the sun closes to its culprit
All of them get tired –
Of looking this enormous wonder,
Of documenting the lives of the natives,
Of exploiting and exploring –
The people and the caves

This is when I grow tired
Of seeing different people,
By doing peculiar purposes.
From this moment…bats at dusk
Chase darkness
Leaving those foisted caverns
They are gone!
The strangers!

August 1999
From:cbcabalza collection of poems