Sometime in 1952, you were erected there,
A little distance from the hem of Parara shore
Old folks of the place fondly called you "landmark"
From afar, you looked like a stud amid a small park.
You were an attraction to many passersby,
in their mind, they recalled with a sigh,
As they recounted the past with misty eye,
How you came to be and why.
Sculptured by the calloused hands of old Tyo Pedro,
The small town sculptor known only to a few,
Who did his art work with dedication so true,
Making you his masterpiece, the best way he knew.
There, you stood like a sentry by the sea,
The sun bathed you in brilliant rays by day,
The wind and rain kissed your graven form freely,
Children ran and skipped around you while at play.
You served as a beaming beacon light
For vehicles that passed the road by your left or right,
From top to base, painted clean and white,
You glowed in the dark, moonless night.
Each anniversary of the Landing of the American Liberators,
At your foot, people lighted candles and laid flowers
To honor the memory of the local freedom fighters_
Faceless, nameless, unknown heroic soldiers.
But one day, not a shadow of you I found;
You were smashed and crashed to the ground,
Not by lightning, wind or earthquake to destruction bound,
But by senseless wreckers hired to pound.
In your place rose a wall obstructing a viewer,
A reproduction of a half of the U.S. navy tanker;
I wondered because in the history I can't remember
That the Japanese hit and split the American barge before their surrender.
You crumbled and was ridiculously replaced,
Yet the event you symbolized remained uneffaced,
The treasured yesterday the people sentimentally embraced,
With smiles and tears of pride and triumph interlaced.
Your memory is gone,reduced to dust;
Modernization consumed heritage like rust,
Woe to the people our culture we entrust,
I languish over my hometown's vanishing past.
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