A vigorous force of a man, never to be ravaged:
He who strolls with me in summertime and lets the blazing rays prick his skin.
He who welcomes the biting flurry of air in the cold.
He who stands tall and firm in the face of the storms.
He who serves as the pole to which I cling when I stumble.
He who I desire to be like in years to come.
Who wouldn’t want to be him?
A man whom exhaustion greatly fears.
The onerous wave never pushes him away.
The nefarious riptide never pulls him back.
He hedges me from these catastrophes
As if he had the roots and branches of oak,
As though his sole duty is to keep me out of harm.
He stands in the way like a devoted knight serving his royalty—
Like he was the crown’s guardian,
Like he was the steel door,
Like he possessed the Necrosword.
He’d be fearless if someone instilled pain in me, Regardless if they were Gods,
And he, being merely human.
He is a savior who’d show up before a petal could fall—
A valiant warrior without a golden armor;
Without the fancy garments,
Without the ability to fly,
But I still look up at him.
Serpentines truly never had an earthly chance With he who remains as tough as trunks,
And I, who remain his precious child.
Despite his sturdy demeanor, his heart is opposingly soft:
He taught me how to dance under the angry clouds.
He encourages me to pick myself up whenever I fall.
He accepts the burst of colors within me.
He patiently stays and helps me grow, Until I’d finally learn how to walk on my own.
. . . But something dwells within the sunshine that he lets me perceive.
A single glimpse behind his mask, he weeps—
He soaks in sweat, beneath his shield, he bleeds!
At the end of each day, he sighs before entering the door,
And puts on a smile when he sees me there, anticipating him.
He’d then gently tap my head with his calloused hands,
And he’d be eager to show me the sweets he brought back from his battles.
Although, he is oblivious of what I know;
That I hear him cry almost every single night.
That I know he gets weak.
That I know he gets wounded. I never believed it at first, my young mind. For how come, my hero, can be frail?
The least I could do is cherish him and let him know he’s loved.
And he is.
He’s loved, he’s loved, he’s loved.
I never imagined that one who seemed unbreakable might be broken.
And I’ll carry that lesson with me forever:
That even the thinnest strings can appear to hold on firmly.
Article: Shawn Pangan
Graphics: Ana Mae Gonzales
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