winter's.eulogy.

it was a bad eulogy. the speech that echoed through the formerly snow-covered halls never embodied the truth of who he was. all he was and what remains of him today reeked of the hate that was thrown at him during the past two weeks.

all because he wanted to stay.

the words that were contained in the short fiery speech of the man standing at the center of the church - a man he once adored and adored him in return - dwarfed those who were used to hearing them only in closed doors. either with their wives. or their lawyers. or their priest in inebriated hours after the sun has set (when god turns off the lights).

the worry-stricken parents who were present during the service with their children in tow scrambled to reach and cover their precious ones' ears, who sooner - when they turn fifteen and start asking worldly questions - will wonder whatever happened during that fateful night, when all the townspeople gathered for the first time (since the first declaration of their independence from the big city - there were three) with eyes burning with ire.

after the speech, there was silence. it was a tranquility of a troubled heart. and everything was a blur. everything was never a picturesque view unlike the church's backdrop of stainedglass window, showing jesus' resurrection. it was more of a picture of the scorging at the pillars, gory but elegantly framed in mahogany and hung at a dining table with a sumptuous meal.

before he arrived to town, there existed an air of anticipation of what he could possible bring to this downtrodden place. tyrannized by their own sorrow. oppressed by the sun. as if he was the messiah, he was seen to bring the good news and salvation. the redemption of the body from the scorching heat. almost literally, he was welcomed with songs and dances and red carpet. (no, it was blue carpet). the headline story the next day on the local paper painstakingly described how he alighted from the train to meet everybody who were then carrying flags and banners. (marry me!) and the whole town was donned with buntings. red, blue and white. with hopes destroyed. pretending they can rebuild them again.

the next days and months that followed his arrival were sweet. it was like sledging on thin, soft ice. the town was alive again. breathing new life.

however, after a score of binges and chilly nights, things began to dwindle and the townfolks began to feel weary and wary of his existence. they turned cold. they began to miss tending their gardens. the men got tired of sleeping with their own wives and the business of getting a tan was on its all-time low. the train stations became full of shadows and the conversations inside the rowdy bars slowly became so muted that you can hear a pin drop.

then, it all came down into this. the service. a semi-lynching of the messiah. a lynching by words. words that will never again be heard and spoken for several decades by those who have heard and savored its harshness. beguiling yesterday's happy memories.

his sentence: he has sinned. he is guilty as charged. as gulity as the nightguard who stole a sleep. and that, he deserved it all. the ire and accusations of everyone. everyone who onced embraced him warmly on tram and train stations and on the streets. he was charged as being passionless, frigid, weak, and his prose, cold. his answers and pleas were only the poetry of his tears and whatever remained of him: his battered shoes, sodden clothes and his silent prayers.

he never offered resistance. even his tears freely danced along his cheeks, kissing his lips and eventually fading against his chest. the service ended with an amen from the sun and the leaves, that watched the whole scene crutched against the branches of the weeping trees.

when the church doors closed and the last of the candlewicks burned down to ashes, he was left there at the apse, with knees shaking, his heart heavy and that night to recall, while the bats' wings, hitting the unglazed windows, echoes from the baptistry.

his eyes, bloodshot with accusations thrown at him, said it all: he just wanted to stay. even without all the grand balls and blue carpets and shouts from young misses to marry him and the raucous band music.

he just wanted to stay. in the cold. cold.

but the ugly eulogy says it all: we don't want anything that has to do with you, winter.

and far uglier than the eulogy, was the way he went out.

it only took a bullet, some brazen words, unabashed hate and an ounce of sadness to end the winter.

and the sun rejoiced.

(for those who hated winter...and longed for the sun)