'The Times They are A-changin'. Alas, Romblon is not

Poet, musician, lyricist, artist Robert Allan Zimmerman, at the height of his creative powers, wrote the following poem which became an entry in the bible of the common man--Romblomanons included--for the poem captures in vivid color the soul and the angst of all human beings, politicians and voters alike.

Zimmerman is Bob Dylan. He is now 65 and highly revered as one of the greatest musical icons of our times.

And speaking of 'our times', Awe Eranes, considered by one social network fan as the bravest Romblon journalist, has resurrected a paper I have not seen: The Romblon Times (TRT).

I don't know what Awe's motive was when he asked me one night--at the night of the second inaugural of US President Barack Hussein Obama--to write for TRT.

I should have said no, but I said yes, the writer in me wanting to tear to shreds a sheaf of A4 white bond paper on a shelf near my writing desk lying idle--blank--for quite some time. I have not written for over a year. More, I think.

John Rufon, who had noticed that I have not written anything for two years since I was hooked up by the Aquino III administration for a public communication job at the Department of Labor and Employment, one day said my "fans"--readers, actually--are missing my essays.

Some of them, he joked, refuse to 'die' until I return to writing. Of course, he was salving my ego. Yes, Virginia, writers are a proud lot.

John named Manong Dioning Fradejas as one of those who refuse to go with the sunset for fear he would not be able to see me write again. He convalesced in the hospital last year and when I heard the news, I sent the grand old man of Odiongan a bundle of foreign newspapers and magazines. A voracious reader, Manong Dioning got up and threatened to live a hundred years more, provided I write.

But what to write after a very long hibernation?

For my first piece for TRT, I decided on politics. Apt, I think it is, because the moro-moro, as Ping Ramilo calls the upcoming election, is about to consume us all.

And so here. I write about politics. But not in the manner pundits think politics should be written. I write about it by borrowing Bob Dylan's take on America's social condition during his time.

Now is our time, but notice how Dylan, writing in the 60s, wrote about the present. If you read closely, you will think Dylan is a Romblomanon, for his reading of the social condition of our time is erringly on-target. So accurate

'The Times They are A-changin'

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Need I say more?