Tears are falling in this cold rue that had trapped those who dreamt of life amidst the storm that stranded them. Puppets, they say, who tried to move and survive the grief that fate had brought to them. I cry, for their life’s masterpieces are like everyone else’s, still they have to end up in tragedy. They are like me, a forlorn who wished and hoped for a better life and tomorrow. Yet their music stopped in this miserable stage of indefinite time. How I wish I could sing to them, the life that was still there, for those who are left. And make my effort of digging up the mud with my own bare hands the overcastted those whose life left in misery. Their screams still echo in my dreams. They are like me, a Filipino who fought for life to breathe to them again, a Filipino, who wavered back and forth like a bamboo in the wind. I sing for them my elegy, my sorrows, my tears, and my hopes, may they live and leave in peace.

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