"Stone, Papyrus, Clay"

Of what happened to the records,
those giant black discs left behind
by my grandfather after the stroke,

I don't know. I'm led to believe
a needle will pierce in vain
clots in the main arterial

groove that allows the system
grainy tunes from these spinning
raven circles of song. I sigh;

we hadn't copied the lost treasures to tapes,
and in turn, CD's and MP3's.
I thus settle for television, MTV's of black men

confessing sins to girlfriends about
illicit children. Their pulpit rhymes
leave my mind, but shall cloister

in plastic discs, microchips, tapes,
'till its descendants come
(online). Our grandchildren

shall think us starved
for skin that flickers
on-screen. Would they know that

as they'll tend to my deathbed
they'll search my music,
convert my wealth

to whatever currency, translation
is left to civilization?
I sit, write, remember

how Lolo would tell me (music playing in the back)
of Him whose golden legacy
was to compose an invisible kingdon:

laws in stone,
words on papyrus
followers of clay.

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(in case you saw this today, I edited it)
'ika nga ni Waps, beat poetry daw. yeeeey. :)
DISCLAIMER: di pa siya tapos!!