🅸lang ulit nang umusal ng dasal ang hangin,
🆂a pagitan ng kupas na awit ng mandirigma’t alipin.
🆁umagasa ang anino sa lupa ng mga pangako,
🅰ng tinig ng kanyon, panibugho ang sinisigaw nito.
🅴wan kung sino ang tunay na may sala,
🅻ahat ay sugatan sa ngiting puno ng dusa.

🅸pinako sa krus ang silangan at kanluran,
🆁elo ng digmaan ay tila lalong lumalaban.
🅰ng mga hari’y nagkakasa ng lihim sa dilim,
🅽a para bang kapayapaa’y isang napudpod na      panaginip.

At the end of a path where no voices reside,
I walked where the dusk and the silence collide.
A flicker of light called soft from afar,
Like death in the shape of a delicate star.

I followed the gleam with no map in hand,
Each step was a whisper, each breath was unplanned.
Carved in my skin were questions I hide,
Written in scars that I wear from inside.

I dug through the dust in the cracks of my chest,
Hoping to find where the aching could rest.
I tasted the rope, the cliff, and the sea,
Each one a door that might set me free.

There’s a hallway ajar but it leads to no place,
An echo that weeps in the shape of my face.
The sky doesn't answer, the moon only stares,
As I try to dissolve in the weight of my prayers.

This isn't a plea, nor a scream for the light,
Just the rhythm of lungs forgetting to fight.
And maybe, one night, I'll quietly learn—
How to leave without leaving, how to never return.

They cheered to a bright, golden day,
But he felt his soul slip away.
He toasted with glee,
While sinking at sea,
A phantom in social display.

Behind a smile no eyes can trace,
Lurks a question lost in time and space.
Like wind that taps on walls unseen,
It whispers truths in shades between.

Beneath the clock that will not cease,
A silent ache begins to crease.
Not quite a scream, but more a sigh,
Like candles dimming as dreams die.

Its letter holds no ink nor name,
Just scars that time forgot to tame.
"When I arrive," it softly said,
"I’m just the quiet beneath your dread."

It bears no wrath, it seeks no cheer,
Just shadows where you hide your fear.
Like rain that falls in sleeping minds—
Cold... but real when morning finds.

Its message? Not the end, but this:
A warning clothed in emptiness.
That at the end of all your why,
There waits a truth that doesn’t lie.

Bakit nga ba tawag ay Vietnamese coffee?
Sa tasa’y may pait na ‘di basta mawawagi.
Bagal ng patak mula sa itim na bituka,
Parang kwento ng bansang sinubukang burahin ng alaala.

Sa bawat drip, may bigat ang daloy,
Na para bang sugat na ayaw sumaboy.
May gatas na puti sa ilalim ng tasa,
Kislap ng pag-asa sa gitna ng giyera't pasa.

Hindi siya brewed para lang gisingin,
Kundi upang tanungin: saan ka ba nanggaling?
May kasaysayang pilit pinupuno ng asukal,
Pero ang pait ay laging babalik sa hulihan.

Kaya’t kapag tinanong mo: “Why is it called Vietnamese coffee?”
Sagot ay lihim, nasa loob ng tinik na hearty.
Ito’y kwento ng bayang binuhusan ng dilim,
Pero sa bawat tasa, may tapang na tahimik lang umiinom sa hangin.

I held my breath in halls of smoke,
Where silence spoke the words I choke.
A flicker flared beneath my skin—
A serpent coiled, a scream within.

No thunder cracked, no heavens cried,
Just steady sparks I brushed aside.
The mirror smiled with lips of glass,
And let the crimson moments pass.

By then, the flame had found its name,
But all the ash looked just the same.
I reached for peace with ember hands,
Unknowing of the blood that stands.

The thing with wrath—it wears no face,
Just empty rooms and hollow grace.
You’ll count your scars in shades of red,
Long after all the words are dead.

In shadowed vaults where silence creeps,
The world beneath its axis sleeps.
A trembling thread, both tight and thin,
Keeps storm without and peace within.

The gales of madness roar and spin,
With howling mouths and silver grin.
They claw at minds, they kiss the flame,
And call the stars by broken name.

Yet Balance walks with quiet grace,
A veiled ghost in no fixed place.
One foot in dark, one hand in light,
She dances slow through wrong and right.

The storm may scream, the chaos bite,
But Balance blinds the blaze of night.
Her whispers tilt the spinning spheres,
And lull the heart of hollow fears.

So mark the wind, and mark it well—
What stirs the soul may also quell.
For in the space where tempests reign,
She weaves the calm between the strain.