The Lady in the Park

The Lady in the Park

Her face dimmed with years of broken promises
Her eyes, weary of searching
Her hair, every bit of shine gone
The lady walks toward the park

Her white shirt, loose but doesn't flutter
Her blue jeans, faded like the picture in its pocket
Her shoes saw enough walking, so tired
The lady enters the park

All past is behind her now
Decision for the future is made
As the lady enters the park
This warm lazy afternoon

She walks toward the fountain
Full of hope, joy may come
Is she meeting somebody?
And will he come?

Briskly yet unsure she walks the path
To her left, children are laughing and singing
To her right, couples are hugging, talking
Her future surrounds her

The lady reaches the fountain
Pauses and turns towards the gate
Eyes scanning the busy streets
Will he come?

Her left palm grasping the right
Little steps forward
And little steps back
She hopes he'd come

This warm and lazy afternoon
Even as the park brims with happiness
One lady is about to add hers still
To the park that's already filled.

The story behind the poem...

Just in case you actually care to know how I came to write this poem. It was November 28, 2005, Monday, special holiday, no work. I was bored, so I decided to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for the third time. This time around I thought I'd see it in SM City Cinemas, the only theater in the city that would give justice to effects-laden films.

Anyway, my second ride (I need to take two jeepney rides to go to SM City), got stuck in traffic just as it approached Carmen Bridge. The jeepney sat in front of Gaston Park (near the St. Augustine Cathedral). The jeepney didn't have any sound system, and I'm just its fourth passenger. I was seated in such a way that I faced the park. I could clearly see it. What else could I do, but to take in its beauty. I thought it was a very beautiful park, not just because of its layout, but also because it was filled with happy people. I could see children playing, couples sitting on the benches talking, and some friends having their pictures taken in front of the fountain. It was then that I noticed this lady, maybe around her late thirties, walking towards the park. She was very anxious of something. Her right palm was grasping her left. She'd squeeze them quickly and then rub them a bit. Of course I really didn't know the reason for her anxiety, or if she was even truly anxious, perhaps it was just my imagination. Traffic was already flowing as she was about to enter the park. I wondered why she was there. My imagination kicked in and I was already writing the poem in my mind before I reached the theater. I guess you'll never know when and where an inspiration for writing pops out. We must have our imagination always at the ready.