"Here comes the songs of the Mother, earthbound melodies woven
together like a storm in spring.
Hear them—the storytelling trees, the struggling soil of old, the
loving leaves above the breaking branches, and the wailing creeks
that dried its throat out of grief.
See them, in this parade they made for you.
The folklores they whispered, and the feet that they welcomed.
The love they proclaimed, and the fall that tormented them. The
mourning they did the next morning, lamenting what once was
unbeknownst to death and eternal history. A disco ball with pieces
containing their own shape and reflections of what is born in the
past, lives in present, and will linger in the future. A beautifully
broken pieces of mirror puzzled together to reflect not only one
reflection of emotion, and who owns them, but a manifold of it.
The wonder, the misery, the bliss, the pain, and the eruption sang
by you, or someone you know. By someone you will know, someone
you want to know, someone who wants to know you, and someone
you don’t know and don’t want to know at all.
Out there, rivers became seas and seas grow into oceans; ships
sinking and sailing, limbs swimming and drowning. But a shore of
mercy will appear, with thousands of sleeping seashells to tell you
once you wake them, to sing to you once you knew—you’ll be out
of the woods.
With your gathered woodlore, you transform."
- John Carlo Retutas
- All items are non returnable and non refundable