Abuelo, I remember you as waiting
at terminals of bus or plane for me,
not like an archived picture that’s been fading
but one ingrained within my memory.
You struck me as eptiome of peace,
and – fittingly – your name meant one who’s just.
Though years ago your life appeared to cease,
I picture you at where I had been bussed,
awaiting with tranquility. Your essence,
I feel, has reached to me through time and space,
so, decades later, I still feel your presence,
serenity and love within your face.
Like you for me, I pray God waited for you,
and – in eternity – He will restore you.


Mario A. Pita

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