Illustration by: Angelo Robles
By: Danielle Hannah V. Aranda
Have you ever mourned for millions on the other side of a TV screen?
Has static ever felt like thorns coiling around your neck?
I seem to have forgotten my tapestry at home
She lays in wrinkles and with aged edges
White, red, yellow– the men in blue passed by my bliss
And how strange, they praised my ignorance
The fog had cleared as the thousands laid with fists clutching the cloth
I seem to have forgotten, those same four colors were my lifeline:
Headlines play as white noise to keep myself tethered
How can one adorned in clear silk and lace
with shining cuffs of starlit gold, be also damp in crimson?
“A shining iron fist, a knight for the people,” they said
Yet we were met knuckle to cheek and a modern day pietà in the streets
Am I tasting the metal or my own blood?
All I saw was white before the storm had raged
Fetal position with alloy in his cranium
Plastered across media and in pixels of dark grey
Someone dropped their champagne on the celebrity carpet
Yet has it always took on the shade of wine?
She drags the woven textile
Silken red resembling her mother’s ruby jewels
Does she follow in the same 3,000 Dior footsteps?
Velvet curtains, widely revealing her pearly whites
How gruesome that they shine brighter than our scarlet southeast
Whose children are tagged with malice as they stifle their dissent
Our aliases become armor, yet our words raise red flags
Past the banner we have nothing to cushion the bullet
I can no longer hang onto pastel ribbons
Yellow pages with neon headlines only litter our screens
1986 will not repeat itself for the new age
Their beaten track still cultivated thorns
Now new blood marches on the gravel
And I wonder, will it be this time you shoot?
With words for artillery and the tapestry at full mast
We press on, press forward no matter the silencing
Holding the line with blistered fingers