She's been there for hours now,
Lingering near the glass window,
Her neck outstretched whenever others arrive.
She searches for familiar faces
Amidst the pile that disembarks.
Not here yet? That was their flight that landed, wasn't it?
Why are they not here yet? Why are they being delayed?
People are merely suitcases and packages,
Depart-arrive, there and here.
She, she patiently waits.
Two years of repressed hopes,
Detached from a troubled race and family
She divulges to the puti her internal pain,
Now money is no longer a problem.
According to a woman companion, they are married now
Already with a child. Cute, isn't she? Can you ever find
A child like her in the Philippines?
Maybe if you were abandoned at the airport or a prostitute.
The woman's neck is still outstretched.
For each that exits, she inspects; in the opening doors
She visualizes her mother and children fetched by her letter.
One, two hours it now seems,
Her eagerness does not subside.
Maybe they were delayed at immigration,
What is two hours compared to two years?
A little later, three young children
Are engulfed by her voice,
"Betbet! Myrna! Inay!"
The youngest astride on her mother's hip,
Her mother has nursed him since her departure.
She is unable to greet all five in a single embrace
All of their tears merge.
Do you still know me, my children?
The woman's face is drenched,
Her kisses and embraces are endless for
The three oblivious children.
Meanwhile the camera constantly flashes,
Their white stepfather is emotionally touched by this scene.
This happened, I was its witness--
Sydney is the foot of the rainbow,
And truly there is a pot.