Dirge of a Dying Creek

I am dying mother -  
but my mother doesn't answer;  

my mother doesn't answer. 

Dr Abe V Rotor  

The afternoon sun casts an aura of the creek's once beautiful state with trees and shrubs lining its banks. Now the creek is virtually dead - biologically. Note highly polluted water and dumped quarry materials blocking the natural waterway. (Parallel Aurora Blvd, QC)  

Balete or Strangler's Fig clings on an adobe rock cliff.

Views of middle stream, and upper stream to the east. The creek is now an open sewer, ugly, obnoxious 

Outgrowth extends over the creek as if to hide its pathetic condition and man's indifference from public view, 

Just across the creek to the north lies a man-made pond of the Oasis - serene and aesthetic, except the foul air of Carbon Dioxide, Hydrogen Sulfide, methane, ammonia and other gases, being emitted by the nearby creek
.

Dirge of a Dying Creek                   
  

Once upon a time, so the story goes, clouds gather 
from the sea and land, cumulus to nimbus,

falling as rain, drenching the trees and grass and all,

and down the lake and river and field it goes. 

I was born this way, like my kin, many miles away,

children of Pasig River, seat of a civilization,

the artery of vast Laguna Lake and historic Manila Bay,

and I, a tributary of this magnificent creation.     

I lived in the stories of Balagtas the poet laureate,

in Rizal's novels, Abelardo's Kundiman song,

I throbbed with the happy heart of a living system,  

like the Rhine, Danube, Nile and Mekong.

I am part of history, obedient to man and nature's will,

I gave him clean water and fish, I sang lullaby;

laughed with the children at play under my care,

through generations and time sweetly went by. 

Seasons come and go, the story goes on - ad infinitum -

but where are the birds that herald habagat?

where have all the children gone after class, in summer?

reflection on my water, green carpet on my rock?

I am dying, dear mother, I long for you and my kin,

I choke with debris, laden with waste matter,

my banks are no more, concrete walls have taken over,

I am dying mother -  but my mother doesn't answer;  

my mother doesn't answer.  ~