Kabigat and Bugan

I don't remember your stories from that sacred book
what I remember is Kabigat and Bugan
and the heaviness of your steps
as you climbed that wooden stairs.

I remember you covering your head and your face
with your blanket as you meet our squeals with silence.
We run toward the room, jump over the corner of the bed
as we watched your slow approach.

And when your silence has consumed itself,
you opened your still concealed mouth
and from it rolls a deep voice
and we shriek and we cry and we gasp.

Papa, I shooked as you told us those stories
not because I was afraid of you but because
you were Kabigat and Bugan
and you brought us to that far and cold mountain.