Sampaguita Vendor

once on the run
tired of the everyday routine
a day with no particular destination
irrelevant and dehydrated
walking the streets of manila
seems like Paris in summer
for a sixteen year old provinciana

it was also on that sad day
that one may find comfort
riding the jeepney
when one gets a free thoracic massage
bumped around
like a rocking clinic
when no one seems to be significant
to talk to on a hot but showery weekend
inside the crowded jeepney
somebody made sense
strangers became unknown friends
the talking never happens
but the man
holding sampaguita strings
sold at a peso a strand
revealed the secret of happiness
without mouthing philosophy

with careful definitions of his fingers
the sampaguita vendor
changed my view of the world
my own definition of my self
for its in those hands
that sampaguitas were glorified
and valued-not just as a peso worth merchandise
but like a piece of hand-crafted art piece
one by one, the sampaguita rings were rearranged
for a man’s worth

the eyes of a nameless sampaguita vendor
radiates pride, love and interest
as he carefully arranged
the sampaguita rings
to its perfection
so the lay of sampaguita flowers
come out crisp with petals standing
even on wet summer nights
for those hands made the ordinary
of extraordinary circumstance
hurriedly the audience become the actor
walking out of a jeepney in a pool of tears
then eating balut walking under the rain
was like dinning in a palace

that jeepney ride
changed the course
of a confused then college lass
hail! the sampaguita vendor
who taught her
how to
live…