Between Fire and Soil Limonov and Mao on the Revolutionary Youth

Between Fire and Soil

Limonov and Mao on the Revolutionary Youth

In a world increasingly dulled by comfort and performance, two radically different voices—Eduard Limonov and Mao Zedong—offer converging visions of what it means to be young and revolutionary. One speaks in the language of suffering and soul; the other, of masses and material struggle. Together, they form a dialectic: the radical spirit and the revolutionary act. 

Limonov, the Russian dissident and literary provocateur, declares, “All young people are radicals. And I have remained a radical, I have not become an adult.” For him, adulthood is synonymous with betrayal—a slow surrender to conformity, convenience, and moral decay. The true revolutionary, in Limonov’s view, is the one who remains a dreamer, who continues to suffer for refusing to sell out. His vision is poetic, painful, and personal. It is the fire that burns quietly in the soul, long after others have cooled into cynicism. 

Mao, in contrast, offers a colder, sharper edge. In his words, a youth is only revolutionary if they integrate themselves “with the broad masses of workers and peasants and do so in practice.” For Mao, the revolution does not exist in the realm of feelings or aesthetics—it exists in the trenches, in the fields, in the real, material world. Passion without action is sentimentality. A youth disconnected from the working masses is not radical but irrelevant—or worse, counter-revolutionary. 

Yet these two visions are not opposed. Rather, they point to the necessary synthesis of revolution: the soul and the soil, the dream and the duty. Limonov gives us the internal spark—the refusal to compromise, the insistence on remaining wild in a world that demands docility. Mao grounds that fire in responsibility and historical consequence. One without the other leads to either impotence or tyranny. 

Today’s youth stand at a crossroads shaped by spectacle, crisis, and disillusionment. Many feel radical—but are they truly revolutionary? Are they dreamers who, like Limonov, refuse to betray the fire within? And if so, do they then, like Mao’s ideal youth, step forward to serve, to build, to live alongside and within the struggles of the oppressed? 

Revolution requires more than passion. It demands continuity between the dream and the deed. Limonov reminds the world not to forget the soul of the revolutionary. Mao ensures that soul has a place in history. 

The youth who can carry both—who can suffer and organize, dream and build—are the ones who may yet reshape the world. 

A Nation’s Wake-Up Call in response to their 'zero remittance week': Can the Philippines Stand on Its Own?

A Nation’s Wake-Up Call in response to their 'zero remittance week':

 Can the Philippines Stand on Its Own?

The recent call for a “zero remittance week” by certain overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) in protest of former President Rodrigo Duterte’s arrest has reignited a debate that has long been avoided: Is the Philippines too dependent on its workers abroad? If a temporary pause in remittances is enough to send economic analysts into a frenzy, then surely the nation must ask itself why it remains so reliant on its diaspora’s earnings. 

Senate President Francis “Chiz” Escudero acknowledges that these OFWs have every right to withhold their hard-earned dollars. No law compels them to send money home, and if they wish to express their political convictions in this way, they may certainly do so. But while they may view this as a blow against the government, the more immediate victims will be their own families—the very people they claim to support. 

Palace Press Officer Claire Castro has appealed for calm, emphasizing that such an action would hurt not only the economy but also the dependents of these overseas workers. Meanwhile, economists warn that a disruption in remittance inflows could weaken the peso, push up interest rates, and force the government to borrow more. If such a move succeeds, the country could face serious financial repercussions. BPI Lead Economist Jun Neri and Strategist Marco Javier caution that a prolonged remittance freeze could affect household spending, drive the peso past P60 to the dollar, and even impact decisions by the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas. 

But the real issue goes beyond one week of withheld remittances. If such an act can shake the foundations of the Philippine economy, then it exposes a long-standing weakness—one that can no longer be ignored. For decades, the country has leaned on its “modern-day heroes,” hailing OFWs as the backbone of the economy. But this reliance is a crutch. The Philippines should not be a nation that depends on the sacrifices of its sons and daughters abroad just to keep afloat. 

Rather than persuading overseas Filipinos to continue sending money, this moment should serve as a wake-up call. The country must focus on strengthening domestic industries, improving job opportunities, and ensuring that Filipinos can build stable futures at home. Agriculture, manufacturing, and entrepreneurship should not take a backseat to the easy influx of foreign earnings. A strong nation does not wait anxiously for dollars, euros, or yens from across the seas—it builds its own prosperity. 

Let those who wish to withhold their remittances do so. This is not a moment for despair but for resolve. The challenge now is to prove that the Philippines can endure—not just a week without remittances, but a future where its strength comes not from the money sent by its people abroad, but from the labor, ingenuity, and resilience of its own people at home. 

"Caffeine-laced or Jaäger-driven"

"Caffeine-laced or Jäger-driven"

These set of poems is a set of exploration of thought, hesitation, and the burden of expression, caught between the sharp clarity of caffeine-fueled introspection and the uninhibited honesty of Jägermeister-driven confessions. The poems reflect the struggle of articulating emotions—whether through poetry, sketches, or music—only to face misunderstanding, dismissal, or silence. 

  

Blending the reflective resignation of jisei with the melancholic melody of maqām, the collection captures the tension between wanting to be heard and fearing the consequences of speaking. The recurring motifs of unspoken words, creative vulnerability, and the contrast between overthinking and reckless candor create an atmosphere of quiet conflict. 

At its core, these poems is a meditation on the weight of words—those spoken too soon, those misread, and those left unsaid—caught in the fragile space between clarity and intoxication, between confession and regret.

Fading Ink, Unheard Melodies

The ink fades before the brush can rest,
words wither in silence, unborn verses swept to the tide.
Autumn winds carry their sorrow, yet no branch protests—
some truths should remain unsaid, 

like footprints swallowed by the rising sea.

O river, keeper of stories untold,
where do the lost whispers go?
Do they slip between the reeds
or slumber beneath the moon’s silver hush?

The tune plays in the key of dusk,
a melody stitched with the gold of longing,
low notes cradling exile’s breath,
rising like incense from an unseen flame.

I have watched the sun die a thousand deaths,
its light bleeding upon the sea’s black shroud,
only to return, unwelcome, untouched—
as if night’s silence had never swallowed it whole.

I have traced my name upon glass,
watched it vanish with the breath of the wind.
So too, shall I vanish, and what shall remain?
Only the scent of ink, a memory without a voice.

I have walked the paths of sand and stone,
where echoes of old prayers curl around abandoned shrines,
where names are mere whispers on the tongues of ghosts—
but silence lingers longer than any spoken vow.

My tongue, a prisoner of wisdom’s fear,
halts before the final confession,
for silence, too, is a prayer—
a secret carved in the bones of time.

If I spoke, would the stars tremble?
Would the mountains forget their names?
Would love itself unravel, thread by thread,
until nothing remained but dust and echo?

The call to prayer drifts over distant hills,
yet I do not rise, I do not bow,
for the holiest of words are those left unsung,
scattered among the dunes like lost verses of the wind.

So let the final stroke be unseen,
let my story end in the hush of an unfinished line.
For sometimes, there are words not meant to be said—
some rather end sketched, where ink is but a shadow of the soul.

Did I say wrong?

Did I say wrong?

Did the weight of my breath crack the stillness,

or did silence, too, betray me?

A feather drifts upon the river’s back—

the current swallows, but the sky does not mourn.

Sometimes, fear outweighs the truth of words.

A blade held too long rusts in the hand,

yet the wound it might have carved

still lingers in the spaces between—

a cut without a scar, a wound without blood.

The tune hums in the hollow of my ribs,

a melody threading through my bones,

rising and falling like prayers unsaid,

like ink that dries before it meets the page.

There was a moment—a breath, a pause—

where truth stood waiting at my lips,

but I swallowed it whole,

and in the silence,

I wondered if honesty was ever mine to speak.

The sparrow does not ask why the wind calls it home,

nor does the river question the thirst it quenches.

Yet I, frail as dust, hesitate before the hour’s edge,

knowing that a word spoken too late

is as silent as one never spoken at all.

Let the night carry what I could not say.

Let the ink remain unspilled.

For sometimes, there are words not meant to be said—

some rather end sketched,

half-formed in the hush of an unfinished song.

Over Coffee, Over Liquor, What’s Next?

Over coffee, I spoke in half-truths,
words swirling like steam,
vanishing before they could burn the tongue.
Morning light spilled across the table—
a fleeting mercy, a silent witness.

Over liquor, my lips loosened,
yet the night swallowed my confessions whole.
The glass, warm in my trembling grasp,
knew more of me than I dared to say.

What’s next?
Another dawn? Another dusk?
Another moment stretched between silence and song?
The melodies hums low in my chest,
a tune steeped in regret,
rising, only to fade.

The ink has dried, the letters remain unwritten.
Would they have changed anything?
Would they have stilled the trembling hands,
or only carved the weight deeper?

I have measured life in sips and gulps,
bitter or burning, but never enough—
always seeking, never finding,
until the cup runs empty,
until the bottle holds only air.

So what’s next?
A whisper? A sigh?
A name left unsaid? A road left untaken?
Let the final note linger unheard,
let the last word remain unsung.

For sometimes, there are truths
not meant to be spoken—
some rather end sketched,
half-faded, beneath the weight of silence.

“Why Me?”

She may have heard my words, found them strange,

misread their rhythm, though carefully arranged.

Be it a poem, a sketch, a well-tuned song,

she cast them aside, as if weirdness doesn’t belong.

I spoke in ink, in strokes, in notes—

offered my thoughts like a bird in flight,

yet she turned away, dismissing the weight,

as if my voice was a shadow of the night.

Sometimes I’d rather say sorry, just to dismiss the worry,

just to silence the sighs and the questions that tarry.

Not because I faltered, nor lacked my place,

but because my words felt wasted in space.

Sketch, poem, the fire that churns on,

from my mind, caffeine-fueled or a Jägermeister strong.

Spilled thoughts, scattered lines,

burning through me, yet fading in time.

And so, I hesitate—

not because my words lack fire,

but because her silence extinguishes them

before they ever touch the pyre.

I’m sorry if I spoke, if I dared to say,

rather than be dismissed until the break of day.

Better silence than scorn, better absence than hate,

unless she asked me, “Why me?”

Of all in this goddamned place.

Would she ask, would she care,

or let my echoes vanish into thin air?

For sometimes, there are words not meant to be said—

some rather end sketched, unseen, unsaid,

fading beneath the weight of silence instead.

Their masks have fallen- when fake news churners stand exposed

Their masks have fallen- when fake news churners stand exposed

For years, the architects of deception ruled the digital sphere with impunity. They fashioned themselves as truth-tellers, as champions of the people, as warriors against the so-called “biased media.” They manufactured their lies, spread them like a plague, and drowned the truth beneath a flood of distortion. They were useful instruments of a regime that thrived on falsehoods, the civilian foot soldiers of psychological warfare.

Now, dragged before the House of Representatives- facing the Tri Committee lead by heads representing matters on Public Order and Safety, on Information and Communications Technology, and on Public Information, their masquerade has crumbled. The solons—unyielding, relentless—exposed them in broad daylight. Their lies, their distortions, their fabrications were laid bare. With trembling voices and downcast eyes, they issued their meager apologies, hoping for absolution.

Facing the music

The influencers had initially declined to participate, asserting that the inquiry infringed upon their right to free speech. In their petition to the Supreme Court weeks past, they argued that the congressional investigation was both unconstitutional and unjustly singled out individuals who expressed political views in support of former President Rodrigo Duterte.

But to see vloggers like Krizette Laureta Chu and Mary Jane "MJ" Quiambao-Reyes, once fierce defenders of the Duterte regime, wept before the tri-committee, claiming their outrageous falsehoods were merely “opinions.” A pitiful spectacle! What they once spewed with confidence, they now disown with cowardice. Where was their bravado when they slandered the dead, when they twisted reality to shield their master?

Others spoke of regulation. Richard Mata, a so-called health vlogger, suggested a “neutral body” to oversee vloggers, an idea akin to the Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (KBP). How rich! They speak now of ethics and accountability, yet they never followed any such principles when they gleefully joined the machinery of deceit.

Nevertheless, these vloggers, particularly Cruz-Angeles and Chu, defended their online content, maintaining that their posts remained within the bounds of free speech. Similarly, Lopez and Mata asserted that their platforms were intended as spaces for political discourse, not as vehicles for spreading misinformation.

However, their assertions do not negate the troubling reality of their actions straying far from their purported purpose. “If lies dominate the feed, even well-intentioned citizens may find themselves misled, manipulated, or misinformed,” Rep. Jude Acidre warned, expressing deep concern over the widespread presence of false information on social media. He pointed out that blatant lies and fake news now overshadow the truth in the social media feeds of many Filipinos.

Acidre also highlighted the psychological consequences of repeated falsehoods, stating, “Modern psychologists call it the ‘illusion of truth’ effect: when people hear something over and over again—whether it’s true or not—they begin to believe it.”

But among them were those who would not dare appear—those too arrogant, too exposed to even face their reckoning. Sass Rogando Sasot, one of the most virulent propagandists of the past administration, chose to flee rather than answer for her crimes against truth. She dismissed the hearings as a “kangaroo court.” What else could she say? Confronted with the weight of her own fabrications, what defense remained but to slither away and hurl insults from a distance?

Why changing the tune? Cry after facing evidence?

Under the unrelenting scrutiny of the solons, their bravado crumbled into pathetic whimpers. 

When amongst the solons in the Tri Committee, Manila 6th District Representative Benny Abante struck at the heart of their lies, exposing them for what they truly are—agents of deception, peddlers of misinformation, with Chu and Quiambao-Reyes as examples. 

Krizette Laureta Chu, once a loud and proud defender of the past administration, was forced to admit that she had no proof when questioned about her post claiming that police and military personnel were resigning en masse following the hypothetical arrest of former President Rodrigo Duterte by the International Criminal Court (ICC). She had based her claims on nothing but whispers from the cesspool of social media.

Abante then pressed further. What about her claim that lawmakers were sending their children to Europe for schooling? Who were these lawmakers? Where was her evidence? Chu had none. Confronted with her own lies, she was left stammering. The legislator, feeling insulted, demanded an apology. And Chu promptly complied—like a frightened child caught in the act.

But the spectacle was not over. Abante turned his focus to vlogger MJ Quiambao-Reyes, who had claimed that reports of deaths in Duterte’s drug war were a “massive hoax.” The lawmaker did not let this disgraceful falsehood stand. He reminded her that the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) and the House Quad Committee had records proving the extent of the killings—records that no amount of vlogger spin could erase.

The weight of the truth crushed her. Reyes broke down in tears. Like Chu, she, too, was forced to apologize. But were these apologies sincere? No—they were the sobs of cornered liars, not of remorseful souls. 

Not surprised that with the grilling people like Sasot, Celiz, and Badoy didn't join in and downplay the entire proceedings as a "kangaroo court". 

The Civilianization of Psychological Warfare

What the house inquiry exposes was not just individual deception but an example of what may call a civilianization of psychological warfare- a deliberate and systematic effort to manufacture reality. These so-called "influencers" were not innocent actors caught in the chaos of social media; they served as one of the contributors, if not vanguards of a disinformation campaign, working to blur the lines between truth and fiction, turning into viral content. 

Make no mistake—these individuals were not mere “content creators.” They were combatants in a war of the mind, waging psychological operations against their own people. For years they attacked mainstream media outlets, journalists, human rights defenders, and dismissed the victims of state violence as fabricated statistics. They turned lies into national narratives, justifying the past administration's rule by flooding the digital space with distortions and denials. Their mission was clear: to turn the state’s crimes into virtue, to make truth indistinguishable from lies, to condition the masses into submission. They attacked journalists, demonized dissenters, and wove grand myths to justify the bloodstained legacy of their patron.

Now, when they stand exposed, faced with evidence, they scramble to redefine themselves. They beg for understanding, claiming ignorance, pretending they, too, were misled. Lies! They knew exactly what they were doing. Every slander they uttered, every falsehood they shared, was a deliberate weapon—and they wielded it without remorse.

Should they be forgiven for the lies? Tears will not save them

But now the tide has turned. Their dominion is collapsing, their influence eroding. No more shall they reign unchallenged. No more shall they twist the narrative without resistance. They weep, they beg, they run—but their time has come.

Tears will not wash away their crimes. Apologies will not undo the damage they have done. Their defense of the past administration was never about truth, only about power—copium for those who cannot accept that the world has moved forward without them.

But history will remember them not as truth-tellers, not as brave warriors, but as conspirators in the greatest deceit of our time. Their names shall be written in shame, and their cowardice shall be their epitaph.

The masquerade is over. The people see them for what they truly are. And there shall be no redemption. 

The Culinary Capital Debate: A National Identity Beyond Titles

The Culinary Capital Debate: A National Identity Beyond Titles

The recent veto of the bill to declare Pampanga the Culinary Capital of the Philippines has sparked a much-needed debate about the true essence of Filipino cuisine. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. rejected the bill, not because he sought to diminish Pampanga’s culinary heritage, but to prevent the dangerous precedent of reducing the nation’s diverse food culture to a singular regional identity. In this case, his decision may have been exactly what the country needed. 

One might ask: does a nation’s food truly depend on one region? The declaration of Pampanga as the “Culinary Capital” creates the impression that the foundation of Filipino cuisine lies solely in this province. But what does that mean for the rest of the country? What about the culinary traditions of Ilocos, the Tagalog region, the Visayas, or Mindanao, each of which offers a unique contribution to the richness of Filipino food culture? Just as China’s cuisine, renowned worldwide for its vast diversity, cannot be defined by the standards of one province, Filipino cuisine should not be reduced to one region’s flavor. 

China’s culinary heritage features eight prominent regional traditions, including Sichuan, Cantonese, and Shandong, each with its own distinct flavors, ingredients, and cooking methods. A declaration that only one of these traditions represents the “culinary capital” of the country would ignore the richness of the others. In the same way, Filipino cuisine is a patchwork of diverse regional dishes—from the sinigang of the Tagalog region to the laing of Bicol and the seafood feasts of Mindanao. Every province has its own unique contribution, and each should be celebrated equally. 

This debate also mirrors another ongoing discussion in Filipino food culture: the question of the “best” adobo. There is no definitive answer because each household, each region, has its own version of the dish. Some prefer it sour, others sweet; some enjoy it with coconut milk, others without. There is no universal standard, and that is what makes Filipino cuisine so unique and personal. Imposing a single version of any dish or even declaring one region as the pinnacle of Filipino food disregards this diversity. 

The issue with declaring a culinary capital is not just the lack of historical context or a comprehensive study to back it up; it is the potential for it to undermine the contributions of other regions. Elevating Pampanga above all other provinces risks overshadowing the uniqueness of other culinary traditions. It could create unnecessary competition, exclusion, and division within the country. Filipino food is not a contest; it is a shared experience, and no one region should claim superiority over the others. 

Perhaps the most important question to ask is: Does the designation of a culinary capital even matter? In a country as diverse as the Philippines, one region cannot possibly represent all that Filipino cuisine encompasses. Food culture is a collective experience that spans across the nation, and there is no need to pit one region against another for a title. 

More crucially, such titles do not address the real problems that many Filipinos face, such as hunger and poverty. No amount of culinary recognition will solve the pressing issues of food insecurity in the country. Rather than focusing on competitive titles, energy and resources should be channeled into sustainable policies that address these fundamental issues, supporting local food systems and uplifting communities. As Chef Jam Melchor wisely stated, the focus should be on ensuring a “stronger, more sustainable future for Filipino food.” 

Filipino cuisine is not about titles or accolades; it is about shared history, innovation, and regional pride. The real strength of Filipino food lies in its diversity, and it is this diversity that should be celebrated. The government should focus on policies that promote sustainability, support local farmers and chefs, and elevate Filipino food in a way that acknowledges and respects all regions equally. 

While the veto may have been a setback for Pampanga’s claim, it ultimately serves as an opportunity for the country to reassess its approach to Filipino cuisine. Rather than pursuing empty titles, the Philippines should focus on preserving and celebrating its culinary heritage in a way that honors all regions. After all, Filipino food is not defined by one province—it is a tapestry woven from every corner of the archipelago. 

"When Faith Must Not Be Used as a Tool by some Interests"

"When Faith Must Not Be Used as a Tool by some Interests"

In the encyclical Mit Brennender Sorge, Pope Pius XI warned against the dangers of distorting religion to serve political ends. Though written in response to the totalitarianism of the 1930s, its warning remains relevant today:

 “He who distorts religious truth to serve his own interests corrupts the faith and abuses the trust of the people.” 

This is precisely the danger people face when seeing the Holy Mass being misrepresented as a rallying point for the political rehabilitation of former President Rodrigo Duterte. Recently, the Archdiocese of Cagayan de Oro had to issue a formal clarification in response to claims that the Cathedral was holding a special daily Mass for Duterte’s health and return to the Philippines. This assertion was false, but it raises a deeper question: how did the Eucharist—a sacrament of unity, mercy, and divine love—become associated with a figure who once called God “stupid” and waged a war on human dignity? 

Faith Cannot Be Used as a Political Shield 

Duterte has a long history of antagonism toward the Church. He has mocked priests, bishops, and even the very idea of God. He publicly called God “stupid,” insulted the Virgin Mary, and dismissed Catholic doctrines as foolishness. He even incited violence against clergy members, once telling his followers that they should “rob and kill” bishops. 

Yet, today, people see his supporters invoking the Church’s name, using Mass attendance as a political spectacle. While the Holy Mass is indeed for all, it is not an instrument for political propaganda. The Lord Himself made it clear:

 “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isaiah 56:7). 

It is not a stage for political rehabilitation. It is not a rally ground for those seeking to evade accountability. 

The Mass is the central act of worship in the Catholic faith. It is where the faithful encounter the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. To use it as a tool for political manipulation is to profane what is sacred. St. Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 11:27: 

“Whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.” 

False Devotion is Not Repentance 

Some may argue that those who now seek the Church’s blessings are merely returning to the faith. But true repentance requires humility, not public displays of religiosity for political survival. The prodigal son did not demand that his father’s house celebrate him while he still wallowed in his pride—he returned in genuine humility (Luke 15:18-19). 

Genuine reconciliation with the Church does not begin with public relations stunts. It begins with an acknowledgment of past wrongs and a sincere effort to make amends. Duterte’s administration is responsible for thousands of deaths in a bloody drug war that often targeted the poor while sparing the powerful. Until there is real accountability for these actions, the attempt to drape his image in the Church’s sacred garments remains an insult to the Gospel itself. 

Pope Pius XI’s Mit Brennender Sorge also warned against leaders who co-opt religious language while violating its deepest moral imperatives: 

“None but superficial minds can stumble into error on the score of the difference between genuine religious faith and the counterfeit coinage of religious semblance. He who seeks to separate faith from morality abuses religion.”

 A person who once dismissed the faith as useless cannot suddenly claim its protection when convenient. Faith is not a tool to be picked up when needed and discarded when it no longer serves one’s interests. 

The Church Stands for Truth, Not Power 

The Church has always been clear: she prays for all, but she does not endorse wrongdoing. As the encyclical Veritas in Caritate rightly emphasizes, the Church is a mother to all but will not allow herself to be used as a political shield. She stands with the oppressed, the victims of violence, and those who seek justice. 

Canon Law (Canon 1368) warns against inciting hatred against the Church, and Duterte’s history of threats against priests falls squarely into this category. His supporters’ sudden appeals to Catholic faith are not signs of spiritual awakening but calculated attempts to rewrite history. The Church must not fall for this deception. 

Jesus warned about those who say “Lord, Lord” while refusing to follow His teachings: 

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 7:21). 

Duterte and his followers may now seek the Church’s presence, but without genuine conversion, their actions remain hollow. The Church cannot be blind to the danger of lending moral credibility to someone whose rule was marked by cruelty, corruption, and contempt for the very faith he now seeks to invoke. 

A Call for True Discernment 

As the Lenten season reminds us, true faith demands self-examination. The faithful must ask themselves: "Are we being manipulated? Are we allowing the sacred to be reduced to a political tool? Are we upholding the integrity of our faith, or are the people complicit in its distortion?"

bet those who justify will still banner the words peace and reconciliation without addressing the need for justice. Otherwise people, including those from the clergy treat faith as a spiritual matter and disregard the social teaching as a matter of charity. 

The Mass belongs to no political figure. It belongs to Christ. Those who seek to exploit it for their own ends must remember that faith is not a shield from judgment—it is a call to accountability. Let this moment serve as a call for greater discernment among the faithful. Who truly upholds the values of the Gospel? Who seeks the good of the people rather than their own interests? Who treats human life with reverence rather than as a disposable commodity? These are the questions one must ask, and the answers will guide toward a future of genuine peace and reconciliation. 

May the words of St. Augustine guide those with concern:

“Peace should be your goal; war should only be a necessity.” 

And may his wisdom inspire toward true reconciliation and harmony. 

May the Church remain steadfast in her mission to proclaim truth, reject falsehood, and ensure that the sacred remains untarnished by the ambitions of this world. 

Veil of Friendship

Veil of Friendship

Perhaps, we are all

but strangers behind veils spun

of laughter and trust—

ghosts who wear each other’s names

until silence calls us home.

Did you know my heart,

or only the echoes cast

by my borrowed smile?

A river flows between us,

but we mistook it for land.

Tell me, O fleeting moon,

when the dawn takes back the stars,

will my name remain?

Or am I but drifting mist,

a sigh lost to breathless seas?

I have worn faces,

borrowed from love and longing,

from joy and sorrow—

a traveler draped in moments,

never still, never my own.

I have left nothing—

only footprints on soft sand,

a song half-sung low,

scattered words in dying light,

a shadow folding inward.

The wind takes my breath,

and in the hush of dusk’s prayer,

I hear the old songs.

Who was I before this face?

Who will I be after dawn?

No name will follow,

no tether of old embraces,

no step retraces—

only the hush of still seas,

only the sky’s endless breath.

O sky, take my weight,

let me rise as falling leaves

dancing without name.

No more veils, no more voices—

only wind, only silence.

So I walk weightless,

a ripple upon the stream,

a leaf in the wind,

falling toward the unseen shore,

where all names fade into one.