Sa Lilim ng Bandila

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Sa lilim ng bandila, may sugat ang dangal,  

Ang hustisya’y nililimos sa bulsa ng hangal.  

Ang batas ay papel na nilalamukos,  

Habang ang makapangyarihan ay patuloy sa pang-aabuso.  

Sa bawat proyekto, may patong na lihim,  

Ang daan ay ginto—pero hindi para sa atin.  

Ang dukha’y naglalakad sa baha ng pangako,  

Habang ang may trono’y nalulunod sa pera at luho.  

May mga pangalan sa balita, paulit-ulit,  

Ngunit tila ba sila’y may balat-kaliskis.  

Ang kaso’y nabubulok sa silid ng paglimot,  

At ang katotohanan ay binibili ng salapi’t takot.  

Ngunit sa kabila ng dilim, may tinig na bumabangon—  

Tinig ng ina, ng magsasaka, ng kabataang pumipiglas  

Sa tanikala ng takot, ng tanong na walang sagot,  

Ng pag-asang pilit inaagaw ng mga tuso’t salot.  

Isang araw, ang bandila’y muling itataas  

Hindi sa palasyo, kundi sa puso ng masa.  

Ang katiwalian ay susuko sa liwanag,

At ang bayan ay babangon, muling magkakaisa...

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English Version:

“Beneath the Flag’s Shadow”

Beneath the flag’s shadow, honor bleeds,  

Justice begs in the pockets of fools.  

The law like paper, crumpled and tossed,  

While the powerful leap without cost.  

Each project hides a secret fee, 

The roads paved in gold—but not for you and me.  

The poor walk through mud made of promises,  

While the throne drinks deep in indulgences.  

Names mentioned in the news like a curse,  

Yet they wear scales, immune to worse.  

Cases rot in rooms of forgetting,  

Truth is sold to fear and betting.  

But beyond the dark, a voice begins—  

A mother’s cry, a farmer’s hymn,  

The youth who cast away their chains,  

And hope that thieves cannot contain.  

One day, the flag will rise again,  

Not in palaces, but in the hearts of men.  

Corruption will kneel before the light,  

And the nation will rise—whole, upright.

~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily, 21 September 2025 - All Rights Reserved

Beneath The Archipelago's Veil

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In the land where the sun first kissed the sea,  

Where heroes bled for liberty,  

A shadow grows beneath the gold—  

A tale of power bought and sold.  

The mango trees still bear their fruit,  

But roots are tangled in dispute.  

The rice fields whisper ancient songs,  

Yet justice limps where it belongs.  

Palaces rise on stolen stone,  

While children sleep on streets alone.  

The law, a mask with hollow eyes,  

Winks at thieves in suit and ties.  

They speak of progress, paved in lies,  

Of roads that curve where truth still dies.  

The budget bloats, the poor grow thin—  

A cycle greased by silent sin.  

But listen—there’s a pulse beneath,  

A drumbeat rising from the grief.  

From slums and schools, from farms and bays,  

A voice begins to split the haze.  

It names the rot, it breaks the spell,  

It tolls the truth like chapel bell.  

For even in this tainted air,  

The soul of freedom still burns there.  

So write, resist, remember well—  

The archipelago shall quell  

The greed that grips her fragile throat,  

And rise again, on truth afloat.

~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily, 21 September 2025 - All Rights Reserved

In The Quiet That Stirs The Soul

He sat on edge of hush and sky,  

where reeds swayed soft like whispered grace,  

and the lake, a glass of liquid light,  

held stars not yet born in their place.

 

The world exhaled in gentle hues,  

where time forgot to press or pry—  

and in that pause, his sorrows fell,  

like leaves that knew it was time to die.  

He looked where the world forgot to speak,  

beneath a sky of borrowed gold,  

where still waters cradled light  

and every breath felt centuries old.   

 

The sky, a canvas brushed by balm,  

poured stillness into weary veins,  

and all he was—uncertain, lost—  

unfolded wide with loosened chains. 

The trees stood like sentinels of calm,  

their shadows long, their whispers deep,  

and time—for once—unclenched its grip,  

allowing broken hearts to sleep. 

 

In mirrored sky and hush of green, 

he shed the names the world had called, 

and in that fragile, glowing hush, 

the weight he bore began to fall.  

No thunder spoke, no herald cried,  
yet something deep began to heal—  
as if the quiet, cloaked in dawn, 
had taught him how to truly feel.

 A tear, not born from grief but grace,  

slipped down a cheek warmed by the breeze—  

for beauty, quiet, and complete,  

had knelt his restlessness to ease.  

And though the world would call him back,  

with all its noise, its push, its climb,  

he’d carry still this silent place  

within the marrow of his time.  

 ~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily,   29June 2025 - All Rights Reserved

Where the Evening Breathes

Image credit to Volker Lehmann

In the hush between hustle and home,  

the city exhales a golden sigh—   

as if tired of holding its breath  

through the clamor of dreams passing by.  

Crimson spills on the glass and chrome,  

a twilight kiss from the falling day,  

and buildings like steadfast hearts arise,  

etched in silence, fading away.  

A steeple leans toward the colored sky,  

not in yearning, but in grace—  

like love, reaching without asking,  

soft and certain, finding its place.  

Each street is a story on repeat:  

beginnings, detours, long goodbyes—  

and yet we walk, still hoping to meet  

one soul that steadies all our why’s.  

So let this quiet moment linger—   

a love note tucked in urban breath.  

For even in steel and rushing lights,  

life finds beauty in what’s left.

 ~ €mpêråtrïzV

 ~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily,  18 June 2025 - All Rights Reserved

Echoes of 1898

Image credit to the site of: The Philippine Reporter

Four centuries bound, a nation wept,

Under foreign rule, its dreams were kept.

From shores of pearl to mountain steep,

A people longed, their wounds ran deep.

Spain’s iron grip, cold chains confined,

Cities silenced, faith redefined.

Gold and gospel twined as one,

While voices dimmed beneath the sun.

Yet embers stirred, their fire untamed,

A whisper turned to roaring flame.

Bonifacio rose, with sword in hand,

His cry electrified the land.

Rizal with ink, his justice wove,

A martyr’s blood, the seeds he sowed.

Through exile’s pain and prison’s keep,

His words awoke the souls asleep.

The Katipuneros carved the way,

Their bolos sang, their hearts unchained.

From Cavite’s clash to Balintawak,

Their courage cracked the midnight black.

Then came the dawn—June twelve, the date,

The world stood still to watch fate take.

A flag was raised, the anthem soared,

A nation freed, its spirit roared.

But freedom’s cost was steep and wide,

New hands reached forth to shape its tide.

Yet through the trials, through the test,

The Filipino heart beats unoppressed.

So hear the echoes, proud and bold,

The tales of heroes, scarred yet gold.

For every drop of blood once paid,

A nation stands—unbent, unstayed.

 ~ €mpêråtrïzV

~ Copyright ©EmperatrizV @Sunflower for Emily,  12 June 2025 - All Rights Reserved