The Cloth Vendor

Shall I ever find the girl
who once cried at the terminal and asked me for help?
with her pair of kind eyes and the weight of her tear
I could never turn down,
heavy dragging steps hindered me to leave her-
offered her a piece of cloth for comfort.

When the siren of the bus go silent
I hear her voice, her whisper
echo in the air
the melody of her sweet and amiable words
make me feel more like a boy

she’s my damsel,
the sweetest damsel I have ever met,
but I wonder where is she now,
does she still cry?

if she does,
I still have plenty of white cloths to offer for her,
reserved and special-
none of which I will sell
to the jeepneys and to private cars
and even to my daily customers,

I will weep with her if she wants,
until she forgets she’s a lady
and I
a man.