The Filipino Conscience and desire for Justice versus Relentless Impunity: Thoughts after the pre-Trial at The Hague

The Filipino Conscience and desire for Justice versus Relentless Impunity: 

Thoughts after the pre-Trial at The Hague

The pre-trial proceedings at the International Criminal Court (ICC) against former President Rodrigo Duterte have placed the Philippines under an unforgiving international spotlight. Allegations of crimes against humanity—spanning from 2013 to 2018, covering murders and attempted murders during his tenure as Davao City mayor and as President—are now being scrutinized by the impartial eyes of the world. For Manila, for its citizens, and for global observers, this is more than a legal inquiry; it is a moral reckoning, a judgment on the very soul of governance in the Duterte era. 

ICC Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang laid out the prosecution’s case in stark terms. Duterte, prosecutors allege, was not merely a distant overseer but “at the very heart of the common plan to neutralize alleged criminals in the Philippines, including through murders.” He allegedly identified targets, provided moral and financial support, and facilitated the flow of weapons and logistical aid to those who carried out the killings. Victims, many of them ordinary citizens, were summarily executed in operations marked by brutality and impunity. 

“Unlike Mr. Duterte, who is represented by his counsel here today, they were deprived of any form of due process. The loss of every single one of these victims had the most profound impact on their families, their friends, and ultimately their communities,” Niang said. 

Representing these victims, lawyer Joel Butuyan spoke of profound disappointment and lingering fear. Duterte’s absence from the proceedings, Butuyan argued, is more than a procedural detail: it is a symbol of the persistent climate of terror that characterized his administration. 

“We communicate the very deep disappointment of the victims at the decision allowing Rodrigo Duterte not to be present in this stage of confirmation of charges,” Butuyan said. “In fact, if Mr. Duterte could threaten to slap the judges of this Court [the ICC], imagine the kind of terror-filled threats and violent actions that can easily be used against the victims if the suspect walks free from this Court.” 

On the other hand, the defense team, led by lawyer Nicholas Kaufman, has sought to reframe Duterte’s rhetoric as non-lethal—a calculated tool to instill fear and obedience, not to commit murder. They argue the speeches targeted only those “poisoning society” through drugs, not individuals, and were part of a broader campaign to assert authority. 

Yet this argument illuminates the central moral and political crisis of the Duterte era. When fear is wielded as a substitute for law, when obedience is enforced through terror, justice is hollow. The Duterte administration displayed a clear pattern: ordinary citizens faced the knife of extrajudicial killings, while high-profile perpetrators, political allies, and “big fishes” implicated in the drug trade largely remained untouched. Law was no longer a shield for all; it became a weapon to enforce compliance. Euphemisms—“deterrence to crime,” “collateral damage,” “shit happens”—masked acts of state violence, reducing legality to rhetoric and morality to convenience. 

Even in the ICC courtroom, the echoes of the Duterte-style rhetoric persist. Kaufman’s opening statement, observers note, eulogized Duterte while casting victims and human rights defenders as adversaries, mirroring the president’s familiar posture. The defense offered neither substantive rebuttal to the allegations nor acknowledgment of the human toll. As one would likely to remarked, “Now we know why Duterte tried to derail the confirmation hearing. He has no credible defense. Kaufman eulogized Duterte, demonized the victims and human rights organizations, and did everything except present a credible defense. At this rate, Duterte’s fate before the Court seems inevitable.” 

Yet, if this writer may venture a controversial observation, one might argue that former PNP Chief Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa’s infamous declaration—“Shit happens”—rings with a grim honesty that Kaufman’s legal gymnastics can never achieve. Why so? Because Dela Rosa, in his blunt, unsparing way, acknowledged the undeniable reality of Duterte’s war on drugs. Operations Tokhang and Double Barrel did not exist in rhetoric alone—they left bodies, scars, and lives in their wake. There were killings, arrests, and punishments meted out, however selective, however brutal. 

 The starkness of Dela Rosa’s phrase—coarse, shocking, unvarnished—spoke truth in a way that Kaufman’s defense, with its flowery claims of “fear without intent” and moralized rhetoric, cannot. The operations themselves testified to the reality of Duterte’s campaign: thousands of deaths, many innocent, many guilty in ways only the state determined. The consequences were real, immediate, and devastating. Words could no longer obscure the facts. In contrast, Kaufman’s opening statement before the ICC sounded more like a paean than a defense—eloquent, polished, and yet strangely untethered from the brutal reality on the ground. It praised Duterte, demonized victims, and attacked human rights organizations, but it said nothing about the bodies that lay in the streets, the families shattered, the ordinary citizens terrorized. It was legal theater without moral substance, a defense in theory but not in truth. 

 Dela Rosa’s blunt admission, repulsive though it may seem to many, at least recognized that actions have consequences. The killings, the terror, the fear—these were real, and they demanded acknowledgment, if not justification. Kaufman’s rhetoric, by contrast, sought to paper over that reality, to deny the plain evidence before the eyes of the world. In the end, the honesty of a coarse phrase may reveal more about governance, accountability, and moral responsibility than all the eloquence of a courtroom speech delivered thousands of miles from the victims themselves. It is a bitter lesson: the truth of deeds cannot be erased by the polish of words, however carefully arranged.

Back to the topic, this ICC proceedings serve a dual purpose. Legally, they will determine whether charges of crimes against humanity proceed to trial. Politically and morally, they expose the fragility of a system where legality is subordinated to fear, spectacle, and personal power. They remind the world—and the Philippines—that justice cannot be selective, that the rule of law cannot coexist with a climate of terror, and that the moral authority of governance rests on protecting, not terrorizing, the citizenry. 

For Manila, the case lays bare a central question: can a nation uphold the rule of law when law is treated as optional, when fear becomes the primary instrument of governance? The answer is emerging not in Malacañang, not in political rallies or speeches, but in a courtroom far from the Philippines, where Duterte’s legacy is being measured not by votes, applause, or bluster, but by the cold, unyielding logic of international justice. 

The ICC is more than a legal theater; it is a mirror to the Philippines, reflecting a painful truth: governance that relies on fear and spectacle leaves a nation morally bankrupt, and accountability, no matter how delayed, is the only path to restoring faith in justice.  

Bluster, Bloodshed, and the Bench: Duterte Before The Hague

Bluster, Bloodshed, and the Bench: Duterte Before The Hague

The distance between Manila and The Hague is measured not only in kilometres but in the weight of history now pressing down on former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte. In the austere chambers of the International Criminal Court (ICC), pre-trial proceedings have begun to determine whether the charges of crimes against humanity against him will proceed to full trial — a legal and political spectacle that would have been unthinkable in the rough-and-tumble world of Philippine strongman politics only a decade ago. 

The prosecution alleges that Duterte played a central role in killings linked to anti-drug operations carried out between 2013 and 2018, from his time as mayor of Davao City to his presidency. ICC Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang told the chamber that Duterte’s contribution to the alleged campaign was decisive. 

“His contribution was essential as he was at the very heart of the common plan to neutralize alleged criminals in the Philippines, including through murders,” Niang said in his opening statement. 

Niang further alleged that Duterte personally identified some targets and provided moral, financial, and logistical support for operations that resulted in victims being “brutally murdered.” 

“Unlike Mr. Duterte, who is represented by his counsel here today, they were deprived of any form of due process. The loss of every single one of these victims had the most profound impact on their families, their friends, and ultimately their communities,” he said. “Bring a sense of justice.” 

Representing the victims, Joel Butuyan expressed disappointment at the decision allowing Duterte to be absent during the confirmation of charges hearing. 

“We communicate the very deep disappointment of the victims at the decision allowing Rodrigo Duterte not to be present in this stage of confirmation of charges,” Butuyan said. “In fact, if Mr. Duterte could threaten to slap the judges of this Court [the ICC], imagine the kind of terror-filled threats and the violent actions that can easily be used against the victims if the suspect walks free from this Court.” 

Duterte’s defence team, however, urged the ICC’s Pre-Trial Chamber I to dismiss the charges, which they described as “grievously misplaced” and “politically-motivated.” His counsel, Nicholas Kaufman, acknowledged Duterte as “a unique phenomenon” who was “gung-ho in his ways” and prone to “hyperbole, bluster and rhetoric,” but insisted that his speeches did not amount to criminal intent. 

“… We hope that when you conclude your deliberations, Your Honors, that you’ll dismiss these grievously misplaced and politically motivated charges. We will ask you to send Rodrigo Duterte back to his family, and we will ask you to give back to the Filipino people their Tatay Digong,” Kaufman said. 

He maintained that Duterte’s rhetoric was intended to instil fear in criminals rather than to order killings. “Rodrigo Duterte’s language was aimed not at suspected drug pushers, as the prosecution would have it, but directly at those poisoning society with their substances, and not, I stress, with lethal intent. His rhetoric was calculated to arouse fear and obedience… Nothing more, nothing less. That was his intent, and it was not criminal. He stands by his legacy resolutely, and he maintains his innocence absolutely.” 

Kaufman further argued that prosecutors had failed to produce any cooperating witness who could confirm that Duterte personally issued an order to kill. “Gung-ho in his ways and with a belligerent tone, he spoke the tough tongue of the street. He said what the people wanted to hear, but he said it in a way that offended the sensibilities of world leaders unaccustomed to hearing it. One in particular, and that was what set him on the slippery slope to a prison cell in The Hague.” 

Outside the courtroom, however, some observers contend that the defence’s strategy has so far leaned more heavily on political framing than on legal rebuttal. They argue that Kaufman’s opening remarks appeared to mirror Duterte’s familiar rhetorical posture — criticising victims’ advocates and human rights organisations — while offering limited substantive challenge to the prosecution’s allegations. 

In their assessment, Kaufman’s statement read less like a legal defence than a political tribute, reinforcing the perception that Duterte’s team faces an uphill battle as the proceedings move forward. 

The ICC’s judges must now determine whether the evidence presented meets the threshold required for trial. Their decision will shape not only Duterte’s legal fate but also the broader question of how far domestic political authority extends when weighed against the demands of international justice. 

For Manila — and for a watching world — the proceedings represent a deeply confrontational and polarising moment, laden with consequences that may yet redefine the boundaries of law, justice, power and accountability.

On the Fortieth Year: The Busy Road, the Beleaguered Republic, and the People's Right to Remember

On the Fortieth Year: The Busy Road, the Beleaguered Republic,
and the People's Right to Remember

In the fortieth year since the Filipino people assembled themselves upon a highway and transformed it into an instrument of sovereignty, a curious development has taken place: the road once consecrated by collective courage has been declared off-limits to the very citizens whose presence made it historic.

The Trillion Peso March Part 3 has been scheduled for February 25, and its convenors have spoken in the language of procedural civility. All sectors are welcome, they assure the public, provided that there are no calls for violence, no appeals to the armed forces, and no suggestions that unelected bodies assume power. Such statements, rendered in the tone of responsible guardianship, are offered as proof that the lessons of the past have been learned.

Yet the past itself resists such neat containment- as February 25 does not belong to regulation. It belongs to rupture.

An Anniversary gone Contained?

It marks the day when governance by decree—sustained by censorship, intimidation, and the calculated normalization of fear—was finally challenged by a citizenry that had exhausted every avenue of polite petition available within the narrow confines permitted by authoritarian rule. It marks the culmination of years in which constitutional guarantees were suspended in practice if not always in name; when the press was disciplined into silence, assemblies were treated as conspiracies, and dissent was reframed as subversion.

It marks the moment when the Filipino people ceased to be mere spectators to their own dispossession—no longer passive recipients of policy imposed without consultation, nor quiet witnesses to the steady erosion of their political and economic rights—and instead became active participants in the reconstitution of their republic. Upon that highway, sovereignty was not invoked rhetorically but exercised materially, as citizens assumed responsibility for restoring institutions that had been hollowed out by patronage, militarization, and decree.

It marks, in short, the point at which legitimacy ceased to flow downward from entrenched authority and began once more to rise upward from collective will.

And it is precisely on this date—so freighted with the memory of reclaimed agency—that the present administration has chosen to impose an “EDSA no-rally zone,” effectively restricting access to the very site where democratic legitimacy was last renegotiated in full public view.

Thus is the fortieth anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution commemorated by the son of the very dictator whose rule defined governance through the blanket gagging of the press, the criminalization of independent organization, and the systematic suffocation of both individual and collective expression: by blocking the historic highway to those who refuse to treat accountability and justice as negotiable abstractions, or to subordinate historical memory to the conveniences of present authority.

In so doing, the state risks transforming an anniversary of emancipation into an exercise in managed remembrance—permitting celebration while circumscribing its meaning, and honoring participation only insofar as it does not challenge the structures that People Power was once mobilized to confront.

The symbolism is unmistakable. A road made sacred by dissent is rendered inaccessible in the name of order. Slogans once shouted in defense of liberty are now deemed suspect, their utterance shadowed by allegations of sedition. It becomes a tribute to memory that now demands performativism if not silence. 

Still, the noise of dissent against the system doesn't stop

In response, various sectors of civil society have resolved to march toward EDSA-Ortigas on February 25—not merely to commemorate the past but to assert the continuing necessity of People Power as a political principle. They argue that it is impossible to remember EDSA without confronting the fascism, corruption, and subservience that characterized the Marcos dictatorship, or without acknowledging the vast quantities of stolen wealth that remain unreturned to the Filipino people.

Questions persist with institutional stubbornness: where is the ₱203 billion in unpaid estate tax owed by the Marcos family? Where are the billions in ill-gotten assets that continue to generate private benefit from public loss? Is Marcos Jr. really serious in resolving that goddamned corruption issue that harmed both his and Duterte's circle? True that the call is "all those involved be held accountable", but in truth- how about the urge to "bombard that corruption-riddled headquarters"? To commemorate EDSA without posing these questions would be to transform history into ceremony and ceremony into performativism without understanding, if not amnesia.

Equally, they contend that the present cannot be detached from the past. Allegations of corruption amounting to billions in public funds, supported by documentary evidence presented in legislative inquiries, have exposed the continuities between the former dictatorship and the current administration. In the logic of political inheritance, "kung ano ang puno, siya ring bunga"—the nature of the tree determines the nature of its fruit.

The declaration of EDSA as a no-rally zone is therefore not merely administrative; it is ideological. It contradicts the foundational premise of the uprising it purports to honor: that sovereignty resides not in institutions alone but in the organized action of the citizenry.  And in speaking of "peaceful assembly" as insisted by authorities, that assembly cannot be meaningfully celebrated by limiting the freedoms that sustain it especially with "permits", Nor can the lessons of EDSA be invoked to justify the suppression of criticism or the narrowing of political alternatives to those sanctioned by entrenched elites.

The fortieth anniversary also arrives amid renewed political maneuverings, in which alliances are assembled and dissolved with an eye toward forthcoming electoral contests. In such an environment, the struggle against corruption risks being reduced to an instrument of campaign strategy—a means of securing office rather than transforming the system that renders corruption profitable.

History offers a cautionary precedent. The events of 1986, and later those of 2001, demonstrated that the mere replacement of leadership at the summit of power does not in itself resolve structural crises. The question confronting the nation is therefore not only who shall govern, but under what system governance shall proceed.

To substitute one occupant for another without altering the conditions that produced both is to mistake rotation for reform. For this reason, those who will assemble on February 25 insist that the work initiated at EDSA remains unfinished. The promises of genuine freedom, democratic accountability, social justice, and equitable development—invoked in the fervor of those four days—have yet to be fully realized.

They march to assert that the commemoration of EDSA must be measured not by ceremonial observance but by substantive progress toward these ends.

They march in the conviction that the true power of the republic resides not in political dynasties, nor in the transactional accommodations of professional politicians, but in the collective capacity of its citizens to demand and enact change.

And they march in the belief that the memory of People Power cannot be confined to anniversaries or appropriated for spectacle.

It must instead be exercised.

Until the promises made upon that highway are fulfilled, the road remains open in principle—whatever barriers may be erected in practice.  

"Where Were You When People Power Was Real?"

"Where Were You When People Power Was Real?"

The Trillion Peso March Part 3 was announced for February 25. Kiko Aquino Dee spoke with civility, measured tone: all protest groups welcome, as long as they refrained from calls for violence, avoided urging the armed forces, and respected the sanctity of elected power. On paper, it sounded democratic, inclusive, safe. But the streets remember differently. 

A sacred date, etched in the sweat, blood, and barricades of a people who would not bow to tyranny, is now declared a no-rally zone. Slogans that once shook the walls of Malacañang are forbidden. “Sedition,” they whisper. Sedition, as if speaking truth to power is a crime. And suddenly, the careful admonitions of modern organizers are offered as wisdom. 

Where were these voices when the streets ran with fear and fury alike? 

The digital landscape is dominated by state actors, by PR campaigns, by the polished, sanitized spin of those who prefer optics over struggle. Criticism of one man, one family, one dynasty—and everyone recoils. Yet where was the same “care” when protesters faced water cannons, truncheons, and tear gas? When hospital emergency rooms overflowed with the injured from the four days of February 1986? When BAYAN had to fight year after year just for a permit to voice dissent during the State of the Nation Address (SONA)? 

Words without action are cheap. Marching in shoes unscathed by fear, watching a sanitized stage performance of People Power—it becomes theater, veneration without understanding, spectacle without courage. The word change is cherished; the work, risk, and sacrifice that demand it are ignored. Opportunism sits comfortably in polite applause. 

The first People Power toppled thieves, liars, murderers. Ferdinand Marcos was ousted, Corazon Aquino assumed office, and the streets bore witness to a nation’s collective courage. Yet today, some ask why Kiko Aquino Dee avoids holding Marcos accountable in the narrative of EDSA@40. They point to the stolen wealth, the unreturned plunder, the violence, the impunity. And the question lingers: is BBM truly “clean”? Is Sara untouchable? The slap to the people’s face echoes even in 2026. 

History does not lie. Both Marcos and Duterte represent the same corrosion: corruption, abuse, disregard for life, and the oppression of ordinary citizens. Wanting decent wages, regular work, affordable goods, functional healthcare, modern transport, sustainable agriculture, land reform, clean housing, and a livable environment—these are not radical ideals. These are survival, dignity, common sense. Yet in polite discourse, these are labeled “leftist idealism.” It is an insult to those who sweated in the streets so that such demands could even be voiced. 

And the modern organizers, cautious and careful, may not see that People Power was never meant to be polite. It was risk, it was sweat, it was courage threaded with fear. It demanded facing authorities armed with more than PR—they faced truncheons, tear gas, and the threat of death. Anything less is theater. Anything less is performative. Anything less is opportunism dressed as patriotism. 

So as the march approaches, the streets remember. They remember who bled for freedom, who stood when every police formation, every armored vehicle, every cannon of tear gas tried to silence the people. They remember the courage that made the first People Power real. And they watch, quietly, skeptically, the marchers of today: who walks with the fire, and who walks politely in shoes that have never felt the asphalt under a tyrant’s gaze. 

History, as always, will remember.  

In Pursuit of Justice: Upholding Philippine Law Amid International Pressure

In Pursuit of Justice: Upholding Philippine Law 

Amid International Pressure

There is a saying that sovereignty is not a mere word—it is a duty. And yet, in these times, the nation finds itself in a delicate balancing act between domestic law and international demands. Senate President Pro Tempore Panfilo Lacson recently clarified his stand on the International Criminal Court’s arrest warrants against Senators Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa and Christopher Lawrence “Bong” Go. 

“What I am protecting is our country’s legal processes as enshrined in the Constitution, and not Senators Ronald ‘Bato’ dela Rosa or Christopher Lawrence ‘Bong’ Go who now face charges before the International Criminal Court (ICC),” Lacson said on Monday. 

He is right to remind us that the Constitution is not a decoration in the halls of government—it is the shield of the Filipino people. Article III, Section 2, clearly states: 

”(t)he right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures of whatever nature and for any purpose shall be inviolable, and no search warrant or warrant of arrest shall issue except upon probable cause to be determined personally by the judge after examination under oath or affirmation of the complainant and the witnesses he may produce, and particularly describing the place to be searched and the persons or things to be seized.” 

“It does not matter if the warrant is issued by a foreign jurisdiction where extradition is in effect. Article III Section 2, which deals with protection from deprivation of liberty of our citizens, must be respected,” Lacson stressed. 

This is not about shielding individuals from accountability—it is about defending the sovereignty of the local courts. As Lacson noted, the Supreme Court is the final arbiter on these matters. And rightly so. No foreign tribunal can bypass the country's system of justice without eroding the very foundations of the Republic. 

Echoing Lacson’s concern for due process, Senator Bam Aquino also stressed the importance of confronting alleged extrajudicial killings within the country. “The trials for these cases should ideally be held here in the Philippines because this is where the victims are,” Aquino said. “Seeking justice where the alleged crimes happened would be more meaningful.” 

Nevertheless, Aquino affirmed respect for the ongoing ICC process. The notion of leaving justice solely to local courts may be intended to inspire faith in our legal system—but such faith is fragile, especially when laws have been bent to serve particular interests. No matter how carefully crafted, statutes can become moot or purely academic when their spirit is disregarded. Consider laws against involuntary disappearances being ignored, or writs like the writ of amparo dismissed by authorities claiming to act against subversion. While it is true that some trust in local courts exists, the pressing question remains: do our courts truly deliver justice, without fear or favor? 

Again, the global stage cannot be ignored. In one post from Atty. Jesus Falcis, he urged people not to be swayed by simplistic views such as those supporting Duterte that "all Filipinos should be tried locally at all times"- enough to justify defending their idol and his camarilla. Worse, they forgot the person who drafted the law. "To Senator Bam Aquino, Miriam Defensor Santiago was the sponsor and author of RA No. 9851 – the legal basis that BBM used to surrender Duterte." Falcis said. 

“Small fish involved in EJK can be tried locally. But Bato and Bong Go should be tried in The Hague,” Falcis added, emphasizing that law enforcement personnel directly implicated in extrajudicial killings can face justice in local courts. However, Duterte, Dela Rosa, and Bong Go—figures who consistently benefit from an uneven playing field in the Philippines, from the prosecutor stage to the regional trial courts—entities not immune to the influence peddling surrounding the Dutertes. 

"For them, the fairest trial can only be held before the ICC." Falcis stressed. 

Atty. Mel Sta. Maria also reminded people that universal crimes, crimes against humanity, demand attention beyond borders. “To insist on a domestic warrant for a universal crime against humanity is to build a wall where there should be a bridge. Let us choose justice over technicalities,” Sta. Maria wrote. 

Sta. Maria is correct: the Philippines must honor its international obligations. RA 9851 allows for surrender to foreign courts when appropriate, as the Constitution also adopts accepted principles of international law. Cooperation with the ICC does not diminish sovereignty—it strengthens it, showing that the Philippines is a responsible member of the world community. 

The lesson is clear: true patriotism does not hide behind technicalities. It upholds the rule of law at home while facing the demands of the world with courage and integrity. As Filipinos, we must never forget that protecting the Constitution and legal processes is the truest way to defend the nation.  

Hidden Light: Poems after Spring Lanterns, Incense, and Fireworks

Hidden Light: Poems after Spring Lanterns,

Incense, and Fireworks

Spring After Lanterns

Deep crimson lanterns stretch before each home,
Overjoyed voices travel near and far;
Ceremonial feasts breathe fragrance new,

Loving hearts grow warmer in shared grace;
Aglow the hearth-fire dries long waiting hopes,
Peaceful midnight of the turning year arrives.

Thin moonlight hangs silent at the edge of sky,
Under drifting incense twined with petals;

Delicate apricot blossoms fall in gentle wind,
Only to gather this spring in deeper longing.

Coming spring touches every narrow street,
Alert red lanterns brighten dreaming skies;
Cakes of green rice and tea release soft scent,
Hushed spring air spreads tender affection.

Mild spring settles upon the tiled roofs,
Aflame the ember kindles quiet wishes,
Nimble footsteps mingle with laughter,
Glimmering among countless kindly eyes.

Narrow streams of incense rise with the breeze,
Hushed blossoms perfume the river wide;
All hearts gathered in joyful reunion,
Tiny drops of spring soak into the soul;
Distant tomorrows may part us briefly,
Always within the heart, affection remains,
Your love shines like the rising sun.

Year of the Fire Horse

Crimson banners rise against the dawn,

Ash-bright lanterns tremble before each lawn;

Ceremonial drums roll through the square,

Hearth-fires kindle hope in winter air.

Mane of flame across the eastern sky,

Alert hooves like sparks that leap and fly;

New year gallops through the waiting land,

Golden light rests warm on every hand.

Night withdraws beneath a brighter hue,

Hushed bells answer with a tone clear-true;

Awakened streets with laughter newly born,

Thresholds open wide to greet the morn.

Dancing embers crown the rooftops high,

All hearts steady as the hour draws nigh;

Young and old in gathered warmth agree.

Deep within the root, the branch grows free,

Over fields the Fire Horse runs untied;

Courage glows where once the dark would hide.

Lantern smoke ascends in silver streams,

Amid the feast are shared unspoken dreams;

Peace and promise fill the brimming bowl.

Time itself seems bridled by the soul,

Under heaven’s blaze no fear remains;

Dawn rides in on bright unbroken reins,

On this spring — one heart, one flame, one goal.

Spring on the Streets

The streets glow bright with crimson lanterns,
Hushed laughter mingles with the air of spring,
Ash-like sparks of fireworks flare in night skies.

Happy voices crowd each bustling alley,
Yearning hearts meet in the warmth of cheer.

Soft golden marigolds color tiled rooftops,
Illuminated fires chase away the chill,
Night winds carry incense over the crowd,
Hearts are warmed by tea cups in hand.

The clatter of footsteps echoes down the lanes,
Always a smile greets every passerby,
Tunes of celebration play on every corner,
Crowds gather, joy blooming like flowers,
All lanterns shine brightly against the dusk.

Chatter and blessings fill the festival air,
Huê-style flowers, marigolds, peach blossoms bloom,
Uplifted wishes drift skyward with incense.

Kids run laughing through the colorful crowd,
Happiness glows despite the winter chill,
Over rooftops, lanterns sway in the breeze,
Night drums echo, stirring hearts along the streets.

Couples dance to the rhythm of the lion,
Hearth smells of sweet rice cakes fill the alleys,
Inviting joy and spring across the lanes,
Uplifting voices wish good fortune for all.

Memories of past New Years sparkle in eyes,
Always together, neighbors share the warmth,
The streets alive with laughter, music, and light,

Night wanes but lanterns still cast a glow,
Uplifted hearts carry wishes into the new year,
Celebrating the start of spring with one accord.

As Spring Keeps its Word

As Spring Keeps its Word

This spring is fuller than springs before,
Lanterns lean close to every door.
Our hearts made firm, our breaths in time,
Like temple bells that softly chime.

At midnight’s hush when old years part,
Listen close with steady heart.
When three small echoes kiss the sky,
Know that no true vows ever die.

Spring blossoms bloom as one,
Gold like sparks when night’s begun.
What seems like petals in the air
May be the weight of answered prayer.

Square cakes rest in folded green,
Humble hands keep what’s unseen.
Bound with care and patient thread,
Promise kept in what’s not said.

Step forth, my love, through streets of delight,
Crowds laugh and kitchens hum with light.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every threshold holds what we’ve pined.

As apricot petals like whispers fall,
Noodles, dumplings, and tea await us all.
Even firecrackers sing in the night,
Sending our wishes on wings of light.

Red papers flutter on every door,
Each brushstroke carries blessings and more.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every word a secret, quietly signed.

The river shimmers with lanterns afloat,
Reflections dancing like a hopeful note.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Love drifts gently on currents combined.

Step lightly through alleys where incense burns,
Past market stalls and every turn.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every glance a promise, lovingly mined.

The city hums with a thousand small joys,
Drums and laughter, and children’s toys.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Each sound a call for hearts resigned.

Gathered together in the warmth of the night,
Candles and laughter, our spirits bright.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Every moment a memory finely designed.

So take my hand, and walk near,
Through lantern glow and festival cheer.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Love finds its morning, bright and kind.

And when the last firework fades from view,
I’ll still be here, waiting for you.
Our hearts aligned, our souls entwined,
Spring always returns, and so does mine.  

Fairer this spring than any gone before,

Red lanterns tremble at each door;

Feasts are laid with careful art,

Incense rising from the heart.

Love stands patient, calm, and warm,

Like earth made ready for reform.

Radiant the river under flame,

Each floating light a whispered name;

Rice and wine in cups of jade,

Promises kept, though softly made.

Where many gather, none stand lone—

A thousand breaths, a single tone.

Evening bells at measured hour

Move the air with tempered power;

Every blossom, gold and slight,

Falls as one into the night.

Should petals yield before their time,

Roots remember how to climb.

Eager streets with laughter bright,

Embers bloom in velvet sky;

Every threshold opened wide,

Welcomes friends from either side.

Hearts made steadfast, hands made near,

Hold the turning of the year.

Deep the drum beneath the cheer,

Distant yet distinctly clear;

Dishes passed from hand to hand,

Draw a quiet, circling band.

Though the firecrackers flare and roam,

Daybreak always carries home.

Over cups of sugared tea,

Old grief loosens silently;

One by one the candles gleam,

Outlining a common dream.

Only this we understand:

Open hearts outlast command.

Midnight parts the darkened seam,

Morning answers what we dream.

Many voices, calm and strong,

Merge within a single song.

Love made certain, calm and wise,

Out of patient sacrifice.

And when the lantern smoke grows thin,

And quieter joys are folded in,

May you know, though crowds depart,

I have kept you in my heart.

Spring may wander, fade, or roam—

Still it finds its faithful home.