Old but beautiful, like a river
flowing its waters
to meet the ocean’s mineralized waters.

Old but beautiful
buildings were only the tallest coconut trees,
the strangeness
of bamboo’s darling chacha, the narra
tree’s deepest root, and
wild trees in the white river’s stone.

Old but beautiful, like ancient people
surrendered their faith
to their anito to protect land
and water—crystalized
and pearlized
of its connection to the one’s belief.

Old but beautiful, and
sorrow and prayers for
how it should be,
it remains like that beautifully and old.