There, in a darkened little room
An old man racks an empty wooden cradle while
Humming an out of tune lullaby
To calm his crying soul
His memory is slowly fading
Like the orange sunset every afternoon
He can only remember the
Sad thoughts of an absurd existence
And the illusion of a meaningful life.
He weeps as he struggles to recollect
In his dying days
The only happy moments he once had
When he was still being comforted
By the warmth of that old cradle
– Jocel de Guzman
April 12, 2002
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