Sunflower🌻for Emily

Still Walking

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I have walked through many seasons,
bare hands carrying bread and burdens,
a single flame in the dark,
a mother’s voice steady against storms.

I have known the silence of rooms
where laughter once lived,
and the ache of asking favors
that never find their way to lips.
Sometimes it feels as though
I am asked to walk until the end,
my footsteps fading into dust,
my heart still beating for those
who no longer need my arms
but whose futures I cradle in prayer.

I am not as strong as I was,
yet strength still lingers—
in the way I rise each morning,
in the way I hold my children’s names
like hymns upon my tongue.
Savings folded away,
memories stitched into years of labor,
I pause now,
freelance hours scattered like leaves,
wondering if the worth of staying
is measured in the love I give,
or in the quiet endurance
of a soul that refuses to let go.

God, I ask You—
let me remain,
let me see their paths unfold,
let me guard them a little longer.
I do not seek riches,
only time,
only the grace to stand beside them
until their roots are deep enough
to hold against the winds.

There are nights when headaches
press against my temples,
and tears blur the pages of my prayers.
Yet even in sorrow,
I whisper gratitude—
for the years already given,
for the chance to love,
for the strength to walk,
even when the road feels endless.

I am still here.
Not finished, not forgotten.
Still walking,
still praying,
still holding the future
like a fragile flame in my hands.

In the Silence of the Frame

We’ve never met—not in the way

the wind meets leaves, or hands find hands.

Yet through poetry and photographs,

I glimpse a world my heart understands.

A stranger bends to light and shadow,

capturing silence in golden skies.

I write of woods, dusk, and solitude —

his art responds, though unaware of my eyes.

His lens leans close to the effect of lights:

from the sky to waters, and the structures beneath.

I linger in the quiet spaces,

where admiration hides in gentle delight.

He knows I love the sun’s descent,

how it spills secrets across the sky.

And when I see that amber stillness,

I wonder if it speaks to me too.

No declarations, no confessions—

just verses left like fallen leaves.

And in return, his photographs

echo something my heart believes.

So here I stay, behind the screen,

where art and nature intertwine.

In the silence of the frame, I dwell—

a stranger moved, yet quietly aligned.

Christmas Verse of Grief and Grace

In the hush of December’s night,

I remember a chair left empty,

a voice that once carried carols,

now folded into silence.

Grief lingers like winter’s shadow,

yet even in sorrow’s chill,

a star breaks through the dark—

Bethlehem’s light,

eternal and unyielding.

For unto us a Child was born,

not to erase our tears,

but to cradle them in mercy,

to lift the weight of sin,

to promise life beyond the grave.

So I hold both ache and alleluia,

my father’s absence,

my Savior’s presence—

and in this holy paradox,

Christmas becomes not loss,

but love incarnate,

a dawn that death cannot dim.

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.

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

Pages

Still Walking

In the Silence of the Frame

Christmas Verse of Grief and Grace

Sa Lilim ng Bandila

Beneath The Archipelago's Veil