my ink is a pledge to history.
where there is tranquility, it tells calm
where there are parades of chants, it remains human.
it’s been chained, even bloodstained
because where it is is where cruel hands were
but my ink that marks their place embarks power
—power by those who’ve known of the trails before me
these trails, immortal, and bear witness to myriads of realities.
its screams are my loudest protest.
in both peace and chaos, it soils a solid black
the strongest cast of what’s to be known no less,
finding the passionate voice in its smear is not an arduous quest.
my ink is a testament to time behind me, and beyond me.
alike any man’s earnestness, there’s overspill,
there are also breaks and gaps, to complete we need to refill.
courage and hope, however, unfailingly rides it;
for every successor to withstand its will
and for truth in every story to persist and prevail.
so long as it stays able, it will write
no matter the holder or which pseudonym it hides behind.
it stays honest and kind, no matter where or what time.
it may stray and it may curve, but it will hold the line.
it is permanent, it is a legacy
—a microcosm of the different rides of humanity.
for all to see, deservingly
pray it remains free.
Article: Marian Luisa Palo
Illustration: Alyzza Marie Sales
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