Letra

"When Ants Rise: The Weight of Many, The Fall of Giants "

Corruption in the Philippines is not just a political scandal—it is a robbery of our nation’s soul, one fed by greed, impunity, and the silence of the many. We are witnessing scandal after scandal involving flood control and infrastructure projects, with billions of pesos supposedly meant to defend and uplift communities ending up lining the pockets of contractors and some government officials instead.

Consider these facts: since 2022, ₱545 billion ($9.6–$9.7 billion) has been allocated for flood control work—thousands of projects—yet many are substandard, poorly documented, or in some cases entirely fictitious. Only 15 of over 2,000 accredited contractors got 20% of that total budget. Or take the revelation from Sen. Panfilo Lacson: over the past 15 years, some ₱2 trillion were spent on flood management—but according to him, half may have been lost to corruption.

How many hospitals could have been built? How many classrooms, how many lives saved or lifted from poverty? What we see instead is neglected communities, failed infrastructures, homes lost to floods or storms, and a nation robbed—not by distance, but by choices of those sworn to serve.

But here is the painful truth: it is not only the officials who are corrupt—we are too. We allow ourselves to be corrupted when we accept money during elections. Every time we trade our vote for an envelope of cash, groceries, or favors, we sell our future cheap. That is why thieves remain in power—because we gave them permission. This is not just their sin; it is ours too.

And here’s where we must wake up: change starts with one person. One voice, one action. Think of ants. A single ant seems powerless. Alone, it’s invisible. But together, millions of ants can move mountains, build bridges, defend their colony. Proof that collective power—when awakened—becomes unstoppable.

You, me, our neighbors, our friends—all of us are parts of this colony. We vote. We demand transparency. We refuse bribes. We report corruption. We say “no more” when elected leaders ignore their duties. We hold them accountable—not just once, but again and again.

The theories are clear: social contract, civic responsibility, participatory democracy. If we, the citizens, reclaim our power, then laws matter, institutions matter, but justice and honesty become undefeatable.

So I ask you: how long will we sleep while our children’s future is stolen? Why do we allow this to continue? Because corruption grows in silence. And silence is complicity.

If one ant fails to protest, maybe nothing changes. But if millions stand—then even the largest beast must bend. It starts with you. It starts with me. It starts now.





✍️ : Mendoza Ed
From: HUMSS 12-2

"Silent Farewell"

✍️: HADRIA

You got used to me.
To my arms that never left,
to my patience that never broke,
to my love that kept pouring—
like water from a river you thought would never dry.

But here’s the truth—
even rivers run out,
even the strongest hands get tired,
even the brightest flame burns itself down
when no one cares to keep it alive.

I was the candle.
I burned for you.
Lit your nights,
held your shadows,
gave you warmth.

But while you basked in the light,
you never noticed—
I was melting.
Piece by piece,
gone.

Now I know—
love isn’t about who gives more,
or who holds on tighter.
Love is two hands,
holding each other back,
fighting the weight of the world together.

And if the day comes
when I’m no longer here,
that’s when you’ll understand:

Love is never measured
by how much you received,
but by the silence that follows
when the one who gave everything…
is gone.

The Quietest Room

There was a man who lived with the night,
he spoke to the moon instead of the light.
He walked through silence, calm as the rain,
finding in stillness a gentle refrain.

He said to himself, “Alone, I am free,
no chains of the crowd, no eyes upon me.
The world is a storm, but I am the shore,
peace is my kingdom, I ask for no more.”

And truly, the quiet wrapped him like gold,
like a blanket of warmth against the cold.
In solitude’s garden, he planted his days,
a soft little heaven in shadowed ways.

But the seasons changed, and the air grew thin,
echoes of laughter no longer came in.
The peace he once held began to decay,
like flowers that bloom, then wither away.

For silence, though sweet, can turn into screams,
like rivers that drown the man in his dreams.
The walls that once guarded now felt like a tomb,
his room of stillness became his doom.

He whispered, “I am free, yet I am confined,
the war I escaped is now in my mind.
For peace without voices, without a face,
is nothing but chaos in a quiet place.”

He thought he was strong, but the truth came slow:
the line between alone and lonely will show.
Solitude heals, like a soft gentle stream,
but loneliness kills, like a blade in a dream.

And here lies the twist—the saddest of all:
when they found the man, he was still in his hall.
A smile on his lips, as if free at last,
but his diary confessed the truth of the past:

“I loved the silence, I loved the night,
but silence, in time, devours the light.
Peace was a mask, loneliness the core—
I wanted no chains, yet I longed for more.”

So the loneliest man was never alone,
he carried a crowd inside his own bones.
A thousand voices, a thousand cries—
yet no one heard him as he slowly died.

"More than Beast"

They hunt to eat, then walk away,
We hunt for sport, then pose and play.
They take what's fair, not more, not less,
We steal, consume, then call it bless.

A lion roars to claim its land,
We bomb and burn to make a stand.
No tiger kills for empty pride,
But man will slaughter, with lie, then smile.

The fox is sly, but still has heart,
While humans tear their kin apart.
No eagle flies to feed on fear,
Yet humans thrive on hate and cheer.

The bear will guard her only cub,
We trade our blood for greed and grub.
The wolf may fight to lead the pack,
But humans stab behind the back.

No vulture writes a twisted rule,
No rat invents a war or school.
No snake will sell the air and sea,
Yet humans price what's meant to be.

We cage the beasts for being wild,
But let loose monsters dressed and styled.
We crown the cruel, reward the vain,
Then wonder why the world’s in pain.

So tell me now — who’s more a beast?
The one who kills, or kills then feasts?
At least the beast knows when to stop,
While man will climb — then bleed the top.

We call it power, wealth, and fame,
But death still knows us by one name.
The beast survives, but we destroy —
A planet turned into a toy.

So beast is not the one with claw,
But he who lives without a law.
And if you think we wear a crown,
It’s made of bones, and weighed us down.

FREE VERSE POEM | By: HADRIA

"They Never Really Saw Me"

By: The Man Who Always Misunderstood

I’ve been called a lot of things.
Quiet. Weird. Too much. Too little.
Like I’m always a puzzle
missing a piece no one wants to find.

Even as a kid, I was the “strange” one.
I’d sit alone, draw pictures in the dirt,
and they’d laugh—
like silence meant something was wrong with me.
Like not shouting made me dangerous.

I helped a stray dog once.
Held it like a brother.
Someone said I must’ve hurt it first,
because “guys like me don’t do kind things.”
I never forgot that.
Funny how people write your story for you
without asking for your version.

I try to do good.
Hold doors open. Say sorry first.
Help when no one’s looking.
But still,
I see the way their eyes follow me,
like I’m a fire about to start.

No matter what I do,
I’m always the villain in someone’s story.
Even if I bring flowers,
they say I picked them from a grave.
Even if I speak gently,
they say I’m hiding something sharp.

It hurts, you know?
Trying so hard just to be enough—
and still being too much.
Or not enough.
Always something wrong.
Always someone judging.

Sometimes I sit in the dark
and think maybe they’re right.
Maybe I am the monster they see.
Because why else would I feel this lonely
even in a room full of people?

But deep down,
I know my heart is soft—
even if no one believes it.
I cry when I see old people eat alone.
I get sad when the rain falls too long.
I love quiet songs that feel like hugs.
But no one asks me what I love.
They just see what they fear.

I don’t know if it’ll ever change.
Even in the future,
I feel like I’ll still be misunderstood—
Like I’ll still be fighting to prove
I’m not what they think I am.

But maybe if someone reads this,
they’ll understand.
That I wasn’t cold.
Or cruel.
I was just… tired.

Tired of being the wrong story
in everyone's eyes.
Tired of shouting "I'm good!"
in a world that never listens.

So if I ever disappear,
just know I tried.
I really, truly tried.
But sometimes,
trying isn’t enough
when no one wants to understand
the silence of this man.

"The Loudest Silence"

✍️: Mendoza Ed

I gave her roses in the rain,
My heart, my soul, even my name.
Each smile I wore was carved with care,
To prove to her I’d always be there.

I built her shelter from my pain,
I danced with storms just to entertain.
She said she loved me, loud and clear,
But actions spoke what I feared to hear.

She’d whisper, “You’re the one I choose,”
Yet walk away when trials bruise.
When life grew cold, and days grew rough,
I stayed—but she had had enough.

I watched her run from every fight,
As if the dark outshone the light.
She’d say, “I love you, can’t you see?”
But I heard voice, not loyalty.

She’d say, “This is just how I am,
I can’t change just for any man.”
But love, I thought, bends when it’s true—
If she were willing, she'd follow through.

I held on tighter, gave her space,
Tried to keep up with her pace.
Yet every step, I walked alone,
She took the joy, I bore the stone.

Till one day pain became my friend,
And I no longer could pretend.
I saw the truth beneath her eyes—
A girl who loved the lullabies.

Not me, the man who dared to stay,
But all the things I gave away.
Not for my soul, nor what I feel,
But for the way I made her heal.

And so I let her go at last,
No more clinging to the past.
I said, “If love is truly near,
She'll find a way to still be here.”

But silence came, and it was loud—
A scream beneath the quiet shroud.
Her silence was the answer clear:
She never loved me, never near.

She loved the way I’d treat her kind,
But not the heart I left behind.
And in the end, I finally see,
She never truly wanted me.

I gave her all, down to my core,
But she kept walking out the door.
So now I stand, no longer blind,
With peace and pain so intertwined.

She said she loved, yet never stayed—
And love like that just fades, decays.
She said she cared, but didn’t try.
And that’s the truth I can’t deny.

So here I breathe, alone but free—
No longer chasing what can’t be.
Her silence said what lips won’t part:
She liked my hands, but not my heart.

"Sometimes we break the law, but it doesn’t mean we are committing sins."

As someone who has experienced this firsthand, I realized that breaking a rule doesn’t always mean you’re a bad person. There was a time I broke a rule—not because I wanted to cause harm, but because I believed I was doing what was right in that situation. And after everything, I asked myself: Did I really sin, or did I just go against something made by people who don’t know my reasons, my story, or my heart?

Humans created laws to maintain order, and that’s understandable. But laws are often based on fear of what could happen, not on understanding what is happening. Sometimes, you break a rule because you had no other choice, or because you're trying to protect yourself or someone else. And yet, society will label you immediately—as if being ILLEGAL is equal to being IMMORAL. But it’s NOT.

I’ve come to understand that God’s law and man’s law are not always the same. God looks at the heart, the intention, the pain, the reason. People? They often just look at the action. That’s what hurts the most. You break a law and people judge you. But when you reflect deeper, when you ask yourself whether you disrespected someone, hurt someone, or acted with selfishness—and the answer is no—then maybe you’re not a sinner. Maybe you just chose a path society wasn’t ready to accept.

This realization helped me let go of guilt that wasn’t mine to carry. Yes, I broke a rule. But I also stood up for something I believed in. And I know, in my heart, that God sees more than what society chooses to label. He sees the truth—and that truth gave me peace.

"Humans are the personification of sin."

Humans make mistakes and commit sins—there's no such thing as perfect. But those mistakes make us better day by day. Sometimes we feel like what we're doing isn't enough; sometimes we only realize our faults too late, and we end up regretting them—which is natural for us as human beings. But think about it: who we are today is a product of the mistakes we've made before. You may have disrespected someone in the past, so now you've learned how to show respect. You committed a sin before, so now you understand the consequences of doing it again. And that’s the point—humans have endless room for improvement. The problem is that they're afraid to open those doors because they're scared of being judged.

In chess, there's a move called a “blunder.” That move can make you fall quickly; it can even turn the whole game around and cause you to lose. But for chess players, a blunder is not a problem. A blunder is normal, and they don’t dwell on it because they know they can’t change it—it already happened. So what's the point of being affected by it? What they focus on is what the next move will be to make things right. In chess, the king is the most important piece—as long as the king is alive, there’s still hope to win. We can apply that to our lives—you know, we are the king of our own lives. Blunders or mistakes are normal. As long as you don't give up, the game continues—because you only lose when you accept defeat.

“He Stopped Running”

He met her on a quiet day,
Her smile like sun that melts the gray.
She spoke in ways that pulled him near,
So he chased, despite the fear.

He brought her roses, wrote her songs,
Stood by her side when things went wrong.
But every time he reached to hold,
She turned away, her touch was cold.

He asked for love—she gave him doubt,
He lit her world—she burned him out.
He stayed through silence, pain, and rain,
Till all that love just turned to strain.

Each message sent, she left on read,
While heavy thoughts danced in his head.
She never once said, “I need you too,”
Yet he kept chasing—blind, but true.

His friends would say, “She’s not the one,
Why bleed for love that feels like none?”
But he believed, and hoped, and prayed,
Till all the colors slowly grayed.

One night, he sat with tired eyes,
Looked in the mirror, dropped disguise.
“What am I doing?” he asked aloud,
“Why love someone who’s not proud?”

He saw himself: worn out and torn,
A heart too kind, too bruised, too worn.
And in that moment, he just knew—
The one he’s saving… should be you.

He thanked his friends for pulling tight,
For showing him the missing light.
It wasn’t him who lost at all—
It’s she who let a good man fall.

She lost the laughs, the late-night talks,
The loyal man who walks the walk.
She lost the love that fought so deep—
She let it go... now it won’t weep.

Now he walks, but not for her,
He walks for peace, for something sure.
No longer chasing what won’t stay,
He’s found himself—he’ll be okay.

-Ezra

"Silhouettes of Thought"

He saw her smile—a morning flame,
A light that whispered out his name.
A spark, a dream, a thread so thin,
But hope, once lit, can burn within.

Yet in the dark behind his eyes,
A shadow stitched with cruel disguise,
Crept in with breath as soft as mist—
The devil came, not with a fist.

He didn’t roar, he didn’t shout,
He fed the man with quiet doubt:
“What if she’s just a passing face?
What if your heart’s in the wrong place?”

“What if her touch is not for you?
What if this hope is never true?”
He poured the poison, slow and sweet,
Until the man could not compete.

He watched her dance from far away,
Too numb to move, too lost to say
The things he dreamed, the truths he felt,
His courage melted as he knelt.

And still the devil wore his grin,
Not out, but deep, alive within.
He didn’t steal or break or fight—
He simply dimmed the man’s own light.

-Ezra