Poetry is when you built me
only to break me down into words.
Art is when you ran to me
when you were breaking on your own.
I was a winning manuscript,
but you reduced me to bamboos and shells.
I was a renowned masterpiece,
but now I am one with my sands as I fell.
Poetry is when you wanted me
only to wash and wipe me out as I rose up.
Art is when you loved me
only to turn my back, letting you down.
Symphony is when you cried
only for me to cry harder, bow and howl.
History is when we heard the gunshots
only did they replace our jokes and songs.
Revolution is the sound of the bombs
only when I was asking for the truth.

I used to be a place of worship,
my body used to be a temple
of what you used to call God;
remember when you prayed to him?
Now I am all but rubbles,
a ruin after a year of shambles.
I used to be where the choir sings,
I used to be the center, facing the town hall
of what you used to reign and control;
remember how cold it feels like every fall?
Now in silence I will succumb,
I’d bury myself for an eternity of hush.
Now in secrets I am downed and numb,
I’d drown myself in waves of delayed rush.

"I will not be apologetic.
I won't apologize for loving you the way I do
or for loving you the way you want me to.
For touching you in places I shouldn't have,
for touching you where you trail your hands.
I won't apologize for loving you until I burst,
I won't apologize even if everything hurts.
I will not be sorry that my kisses are stormy,
I will not be sorry that I'm always in a hurry.
I will not feel bad when everyone is mad,
I am glad to say that you're the best I've had.
I will not be apologetic
that I'm never decisive,
I will not be apologetic
that this love is destructive."

Is that what you're expecting me to say?
Is that what you wanted me to write?
To try to turn the night into day?
To try to turn the wrongs into rights?
Did you want to rob the sun off its rays?
Did you want the moon to lose its tides?
Were you wishing I'd surf your waves?
Were you praying I'd love you after the lies?
I hate to say it, I hate to break it to you,
I couldn't, no I won't do it, it just won't do.

But that's it, right?
People are forces of nature.
We are nature ourselves.
And nature sometimes hurts,
if not often. Or always.
We call them calamities.
But why can you find the word “calm” in it?
But that's just really how it is.
That's nature, literally.
But that's it, right?
We touch and we destroy.
Because people are forces of nature.
We kiss and we wave goodbye.
Because we are nature ourselves.
We're like ripcurls that hurts.
Almost always.
We are calamities.
And that's just how it is, right?
God made us to either kiss or ****.
Why do you think womb rhymes with tomb?
That's just how love is, isn't?
It could save you, yet it could shake you.
It could help you, yet it could hurt you.
It could be the most giving, generous
yet it could be unforgiving, disastrous.
It could be your calm and serenity,
and it could be your storm and calamity.

Kasabay ng iyong pagpikit
ay ang imbay ng aking katawan,
pag-alon ng mga balikat at pagkibit.
Kasabay ng iyong pagtalikod
ay akma akong aapak at papalakpak,
dahan-dahang papalapit sa entablado.
Kasabay ng iyong pagkukubli ng damdamin
ay ang pag-muwestra ng tadhana sa akin,
pag-gabay tungo sa kung ano ang tuwid.
Kasabay ng pagtago ng nadaramang totoo,
ay ang siya ring paghahanap ko ng sagot
sa wari’y hindi mo masagot na tanong.
At kasabay ng pagsasara nitong kurtina,
ay ang paghinto sa pagpatak ng luha
at ang ating maligayang paglaya.
At kasabay ng pagdidilim nitong entablado
ay ang kaliwanagan na di nahanap sa’yo
at ang aking pagsuko para sa teatro.
At kasabay ng kanilang hikbi at palakpakan
ang pinakahihintay na pag-uwi sa kawalan
at pagsalubong sa sarswela na naman.

So many more things I would have loved
to share with you.
So many more stories I would have loved
to exchange with you.
So many more words I would have loved
to learn and unlearn with you.
So many more emotions I would have loved to know if you feel the same way, too.
So many more things I would have loved
to share with you.
Your music.
Your warmth.
Your personal space.
Your laughter and their sounds, reverberating between our bodies.
Our bodies.
The night.
My tongue.
The silver moon sparkling.
Your necklace, I want to share it, too.
Your rib and my rib, kissing too.

Cuando la noche es gris y fría,
te espero como esperaría
un atardecer colorido cada día.

Cuando la montaña se vuelve traicionera,
me aferro a ti como a una piedrita
que me ayudará y salvará mi vida.

Pero cuando esta ciudad se vuelve demasiado exigente,
¿serán nuestro amor el teatro
al final de cada agotador mes?

Y cuando la vida se vuelve
demasiado implacable,
¿sería este hogar el confesionario
o la iglesia al fin de cada semana horrible?

Pero cuando la música se detenga
y todo deje de ser divertido,
¿me seguirás abrazando,
manteniéndome a salvo del frío?

Y cuando el telón cae
y el escenario se oscurece,
¿te quedarás aquí conmigo
hasta que veamos el amanecer?

We would exchange contents of our souls,
open up my hips like you would a hole,
where you'll pour your sadness into;
and cover all over my grief,
like I'd spill my anxiety,
then glaze over your anguish.
So, we'll never have ***, I think.
We would rip each other's skin like ribs,
tear through our necks,
leave them red with bites and nibs;
or maybe it’ll be a slow night and we’ll read,
and maybe you’ll tell me I am who you need.
So we’ll never have ***, I believe.
I would tell you how sometimes slow hurts,
and sometimes,
it’s the absence of fire that burns.
I would tell you how it doesn’t make sense,
and sometimes,
what makes it present is the absence itself.
So we’ll never have ***, I bet.
Maybe you could tell me about these instead;
how you don’t know when it happened.
or if you could, tell me at what moment?
Maybe tell me that I'm always in your head;
or wishing I'm giving you one instead.
And that you don’t know how it started.
But it’s starting now isn’t?
It’s brewing now at this very moment,
or even way before.
Come closer, tell me how
you’ve been waiting for this very moment.
Whisper how you want more.
Come to me, my wave, I am your shore.

Je sais que tu ne peux toujours
pas m'oublier, comme ta belle histoire.
Tu ne peux pas oublier mon nom
non plus, c'est comme chuchoter "bonsoir".
Je veux oublier comment tu prononces
mon nom, mais je n'arrive pas à me souvenir
d'admettre que tu l'as dit le mieux.
Peut-être que je le ferais enfin si seulement
tu me disais aussi s'il y a quelqu'un qui
pourrait t'embrasser mieux que moi.
Même si mes amis me coupaient
la tête parce que je pense encore
à toi dix mois plus ****,
même si le monde entier
me faisait un procès parce
que je continue à essayer
d'écrire sur toi après un an,
je me brosserais les cheveux,
remonte mes seins,
je mettrais mon trousseau,
réparer ma jupe
je me tiendrais devant une vitre et je dirais:
"Qu'ils mangent du brioche!"
mais pas après que tu aies
encore goûté à mon gâteau.
Mais pas après que tu aies
encore goûté à mon gâteau,
encore et encore...

"Love waits, lust rushes",
some idiot on Instagram preaches.
Or Idstagram, if you will.
I call him one, but it's the truth
he brews, spews and spill.
He's an idiot for he fell in love indeed.
"Find your missing rib, not another *****",
another proclaimsㅡa poet this time around.
That would be me, only if you want.
I meant the idiot poet or your missing rib.
You can call me a fool, for it's the truth
I keep, speak and ****.
A friend who lies or a lover who stays still.
I could be both, if you wish.
Choice is not mine, not this time.

How social is a "social" dance exactly?
Depending on one's culture, does it vary?
How "intimate" do you consider intimacy?
Depending on which parts of your body?
How would you define what's touchy?
Depending on where you want it, maybe?
But when do friends dance, exactly?
Is it every after midnight, when they're free?
Or when all eyes gaze, at afternoon at three?
And where do friends dance, precisely?
Is it at the supermarket, with so much glee?
Or when they're uninhibited, at some party?
So how do friends dance, really?
Would you be so kind as to teach me?
Would you be graceful enough to guide me?
Would you step first and lead me?
Would you stop last to kiss me?

Where could it be?
Where is this taking me?
My hopes are anything but high.
My ink for poetry is running dry.
Where is my one horse running off to?
Where exactly is the end of the rainbow?
I keep searching and screaming for it.
I keep yearning and yelling for this.
Still, it could be me and you.
Still, despite the shades of blue.
The last nugget of gold that I will rush to.
The last star that's burning in the metro.
This city ain't big enough for both of us,
but your room might just be.
There ain't room for both of us in this town,
but in my bed there might just be.

But do you know that all of these takes time?
That you simply can't just wake up good?
That this is one thing you can't do online?
That this is more than wearing boots?
But do you know how much time is mine?
That you might wanna share perhaps?
But do you know how long must I ride?
Before you enter the arena and do laps?
But do you know that all of these takes time?
That even the greatest cowboy can fall?
That if you think it could be anywhere,
could it possibly be on my bed or hall?
Do you know that it takes hell of a practice?
But then if it's the art of cantering,
my body is but one masterpiece,
you are a renaissance artist.
But if a horse is poetry in motion,
your legs writes classic novels
I don't wish to ever end.
And if this little tryst is all but a play,
then we better make it worthwhile
do it best more than a playwright.

The more I ride, the more he fades away
and the more he blurs when it's a rainy day.
The more I trot, the less he catches on
and the lesser he gets my prized attention.
Because the more we run on the field,
the more I breathe, live and feel.
Because the more we canter out and about,
the less I feel the worries, fears and doubts.
But you are the vast lands that I will uphold,
you are the range of mountains with golds.
You are the trail that the champions follow,
you are where families will bloom and grow.
You are my Olympus and achilles' heel,
he's just the dirt on my boots.
You are my final will and death hill,
he's just another old saloon.

Ang wikang nanlaban,
ay ang wikang nanatili.
Ang wikang di nag-atubili,
ay ang wikang nagwagi.
Ang wika ng mga matatapang,
ay ang wikang di maaagawan.
Ang wikang awitin ng araw
at ang wikang tula ng buwan.
Ang wikang harana ng habagat
at ang wikang isinulat ng dagat.
Ang wikang ibinaybay ng alon
at ang wikang di aanurin ng baybay.
Ang wikang sinambit ng mga ninuno
na kailanman ay di mamamatay.
Ang wikang ginamit ng mga bayani
na habambuhay nang mamamalagi.
Ang wikang matapang,
ang wika ko magpasawalang-hanggan.

If the green waves in Siargao
and the blue swells in La Union
could meet somewhere and speak,
what would they talk about?
In what language, even?
Ilocano? Bisaya? Tagalog? Español?
Or perhaps the better question is;
what would they 𝘯𝘰𝘵 talk about?
If the waters of Siargao could introduce itself
to the northwest wind of La Union,
I think,
they would create waves more gigantic
than Bondi or Nazare.
And if the eastern Pacific wind of Siargao
kiss the West Philippine Sea beside La Union,
I believe,
they would cause tsunami bigger than Japan's.
The waves would be bigger than anywhere else,
together they would be the best.
Or they could be the worst.
And so God willed La Union in the northwest,
and Siargao further down south in Mindanao.
And so they could not speak, meet and kiss...

At kung napapagal ka na sa haba ng lakbay,
nababagot sa buhay o kawalan nitong taglay,
kung hapong-hapo ka na sa alon ng lumbay,
hayaan **** hayaan kitang dumaong,
pumarito ka sa aking baybay,
pumarada ka at pumatong.
𝘠 𝘥𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦,
𝘣𝘢𝘫𝘰 𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘰.
𝘠𝘰 𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘳é 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪, 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳é 𝘵𝘶 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘰𝘴.
Kung napapagod ka na sa tagal ng byahe,
mananatili ba o muling mag-iimpake?
Kung nalilito saan nga ba patungo,
sa dako kaya rito, o dako roon?
Hayaan **** hayaan kitang huminto.
Pumara ka, papalapit, pumarito.
𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘢 𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘢 𝘵𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘦ó𝘯,
𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴
𝘺 𝘮𝘪 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢.
𝘚𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦 𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘻𝘢,
𝘵𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳é 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴 𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘴.

Maybe I don't wanna be better?
If your definition of "better" is to risk
this spark of joy and trade it
for pangs of burn and bouts of pain,
then maybe I don't wanna be better.
My darling dear,
life is already painful as it is.
Maybe I wanna surf where it wouldn't hurt?
And if being around
other hurt surfers would,
I'd very much fancy riding the waves alone,
catch a break or break down on my own,
so I wanna surf where it wouldn't hurt.
My north wind,
reality cuts deeper than reefs.
Maybe I wanna stay in the shallow?
If your depth is where I could lose myself,
yet again, and break my back,
skin and bones
and swim back to shore
or drift lifeless alone,
then maybe I just wanna stay in the shallow.
My grand sea,
love should not hurt and bleed.

Here is a list of things that are bigger,
greater than all of the world's oceans,
bigger than the storms in the seas,
than all the islands in the Pacific,
connecting all of us together,
being one great channel of culture...
Telenovela, chismes, galeones,
teleserye, chismis, galleon.
𝘚𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶-𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯.
𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯? 𝘒𝘢𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯.
Sangría? No, sangre de Magallanes.
𝘕𝘪ñ𝘰𝘴, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘻
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴.
And believe it or not;
Bulerías, danza, bachata, habaneras.
How do you like your coffee, bebe?
Con leche? Bueno.
Evaporada and condensada?
Tequila, San Miguel, Mezcal, Corona,
Cerveza, Serbesa, Cerrado, Sarado.
𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘢,
𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘰.
Actually, how do you like your coffee?
𝘛𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘧é?
𝘚𝘪 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘶 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘰.
So do you like it hot or con hielo?
And of course;
Canciones, c/kanta,
And nowㅡreggateon, budots.
Gasolina? Aserejé? Macarena?
Bad Bunny, being our new Columbus.
Playitas, islas, karagatan, nuestro paraíso.
Mas chismes, mas tazas de cafe.
How do you think we're so far yet so alike?
Of all these things? Con chisme? Claro.
So which one first? The juiciest or latest?

You don't need to travel all over the world
to know that there are many Gods.
Plenty of teachings, multitude of words,
from west to east to your nest and back.
Hundreds of chants and hours of prayers,
written in ink of blood or black.

And I don't need to travel all over the world
to know that you were made by the same God
who created the vast oceans,
who sculpted the mountains,
who made the lightning,
who moulded the earth.

And I don't need to practice every religion,
learn the ways of all man,
to know that you are already my answered prayer,
to know that you are the one that I want,
to know that you are the man I would kneel before,
and pray as if your kiss is my final salvation.

And you don't need to pray anymore from now on,
learn the ways of no other unworthy man,
for you to know that my name is the only prayer,
to know the truth that I am the one you want,
to know that it's me you would sail the deadly seas, fight crusades for,
and call my name like a prayer, as if my touch is your new religion.

Ang letrang matapang.
Ang unang letra ng mga tao
na pinakamatatapang daw.
Ang unang letra ng salitang "laban",
ng "laot"
ng "lami"
ng "laya",
libro.
libertad.
lagrima.
Otra vez, libertad.
La palabra, "La"
La Union.
La Reina.
LA MANILEÑA.
La poeta.
La escritora maxima.
Lakambini.
Learning.
Laughing.
Loving.
Living.
Life.
Live­. Laugh. Love.

Estás a mi merced.
Hasta que yo lo diga,
nunca serás libre.
Yo no ruego
pero tu eres el que esta rogando.
Soy la reina de la isla del fuego,
este es mi juego y tu solo estas jugando.
Eres mi esclavo ahora.
hasta que escribo
Mi peor y último poema.

And you can't drown a woman who was raised by the ocean
and nourished by the islands.
You can't sink a ship and bring it to its knees.
But you can't soak a girl who grew up in floods of garbage
and emerge in farms.
You can't splash the rain and wet the storms.
You can't bring down a woman from mud,
with hands smeared by dirt from her dad.
You can't bury an angel you tried to give hell,
with a body from heaven sent as your help.
You can't freeze a ***** whose heart is ice,
you should be ashamed of your foolish lies.
You can't burn a queen that's made of fire,
but you'll regret trying for the rest of your life.

But times are different now.
You may still have a kingdom,
yet you're here in mine and yours is far away,
you're here looking for food, like some stray.
But the tides have turned now.
Your kind used to be stronger,
yet now I have you wrapped around my finger,
you're there looking for me, who's now bigger.
But this is a newer world now.
You are right here in my kingdom and land,
you're nowhere to be found
if not for the golden touch of my hand.
But this is my world now.
You are right here in my abundant islands
and under my crimson red skies.
You'll be all but buried down to the ground
if not for my songs, lies, jokes and fire.
You're reduced to ashes among the sand
if not for me coming right into your life.

I'm never one to feel the right things,
to feel what I should be feeling
or what they say I should feel.
I'm never one to say the proper words,
to say what I should to cut the cords
or what they say I should pray to the Lord.
But why do I feel like I'm not welcome here?
Why do I feel like a stranger since I'm near?
I'm not one to do what a lady should do,
to do things for what and act to please who
or go wherever they want her to go to.
I'm never one to mindlessly nod and obey,
to follow the mild current and go against bay
or have a routine like I do from night to day.
But why do I feel like doing what they say?
Why do I feel like I need to go anyway?

It's been a month since I've cut my hair short
And in another month, I'll cut it again,
and the next month, another inch,
and more inch, and more inch...
As it tries to grow longer, I'll stop it there.
I'll chop it, if it tries to go past my shoulder.
And by December, I'll have a hair and body you have never touched, ever.
And by January, I'll be a brand new person
yet someone you'll never forget forever.

What of languages, if you only need one or two words to say you're sorry?

What of learning dialects, if you only need a single sentence to tell me why you think I deserved whatever **** you've put me in?

What use are the multiple languages you speak, when you can't use a single one of them to justify what you did?

What about the new language you taught me, is it even ours to begin with?
What good is it, if I'm now gagged, silenced and mute?

So what of languages, if you are to be exiled soon, with your tongue tied too?

So what of my dialects, if I couldn't even ask myself to forgive and forget, to let it go and give it a rest?

So what use are the multiple languages we speak, if we can't use a single word, a sentence, not a single language to say
the multitudes of feelings we feel?

What about the new language you taught me? I wanna write these words in scripts, only to light them in a fire.
How good will it be, if I were to be the bad guy this time?

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
𝑳𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂,
𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒈𝒐
𝒚 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒔.

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
¡𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝒀 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂,
𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝑳𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝑳𝒂 ú𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂. 𝑬𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒗𝒐𝒚.
𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔é 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓é 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂
𝒚 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔.

                            
                              𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐,
                      ­  𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂

𝑰 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚, 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒅,
𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒙
𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆...

𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆
𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒉?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒚𝒎𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒓?
𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒖𝒎
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔?
𝑩𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆,
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅
𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒍,
𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅'𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅,
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆
𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉...

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒌.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐
𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒌𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌
𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌 𝒔𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕
𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒋𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒛𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒃𝒂
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒘 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒘.
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅
𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆;
𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍.
𝑨 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍.
𝑨 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒔,
𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔.
𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏;
𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅,
𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚,
𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏.

𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆...
𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆.
𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏.

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒔,
𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚,
𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆;
𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏.
𝑨 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆.
𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍,
𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔.
𝑼𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏;
𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅,
𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚,
𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅...
𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍.
𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔,
𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍.

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒒𝒖í 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒊 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊ó𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒔;

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒛𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑨𝒉, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐, 𝒄𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔!
¡𝑴𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒍 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐
𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒔,
𝑬𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍,
𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒔.
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒕ú 𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔,
𝒍𝒂 𝒎á𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂.
¡𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒗í𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔!

¡𝑨𝒚, 𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒒𝒖é 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔
𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂 𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒐𝒔,
¡𝒍í𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒛 𝒚 𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆!

𝑨𝒎𝒆𝒏.

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔
𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒍
𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒊 𝑬𝒃𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒐.
𝑴𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏,
𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒚𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒊,
𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒔
𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏.
𝑴𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒃𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒂,
𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒂,
𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊'𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒉𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊 𝑬𝒃𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒅.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒘𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒉𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒆.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈.
𝑴𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒃𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒅, 𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐, 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍,
𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒊 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏,
𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆.
𝒂𝒕 𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒔𝒆ñ𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔,
𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒂.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒌𝒂𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒍𝒐 𝒎á𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆,
𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒎á𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒂
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂'𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, ¡𝒇𝒖𝒊 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒛𝒂𝒅𝒂!
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.
𝒀𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊ó𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒌𝒐...
𝑷𝒂𝒈𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝑷𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒈...
𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒊 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔...
𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔...
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒐, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒏,
𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒂𝒏...

𝑨𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝒎𝒂𝒂𝒂𝒓𝒊 𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈,
𝒊𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔!
¡𝑨𝒚! 𝑨𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒐...
𝑫𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒌𝒐 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒂,
𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂, 𝒑𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈...
𝑨𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒂𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔, 𝒑𝒖𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒔...

𝑰𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒂,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒂𝒏𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒂
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒐,
𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝒆𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒐...
𝑺𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈, 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊,
𝒄𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒂,
𝒄𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒕á 𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂...
𝑼𝒏𝒂, 𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒘 𝒎𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒆ñ𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐,
𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒑𝒂𝒚.
𝑰𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆ñ𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐,
𝒓á𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒑𝒂𝒚,
𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒂'𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒚-𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒚.
𝑰𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒐, 𝒅𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒂 é𝒍,
𝒊𝒕𝒐'𝒚 𝒌𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒚𝒂 𝒚 𝒎í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊é𝒏.
𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒔𝒂'𝒚𝒐.
𝑺𝒂 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒊 𝒎𝒐, 𝒔𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒈 𝒎𝒐.
𝑫𝒖𝒅𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒊 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒎𝒐.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒎í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐.
𝑴í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒆.
𝑴í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒆.
𝑲𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏, 𝒊𝒕𝒐'𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑵𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝒌𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒊
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒂𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒐,
𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒐...
𝑺𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏, 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂,
𝒄𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒔,
𝒄𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒂...
𝑼𝒏𝒂, 𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒘 𝒎𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒐,
𝒓á𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂.
𝑰𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕𝒐,
𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒘,
𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒘.
𝑰𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒐, 𝒅𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒐,
𝒊𝒕𝒐'𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒚𝒂, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒔ó𝒍𝒐 𝒎í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐.
¿𝑴í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓? ¿𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔?
𝑫𝒖𝒅𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 é𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊é𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒒𝒖é 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒊ó.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒎í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐.
𝑴í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒆.
𝑴í𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒆.
𝑺𝒊 𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔, 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆.
𝑬𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒐,
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐 𝒍𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒂,
𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒅, 𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒆;
𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐, é𝒍 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓á 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒔,
𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂, 𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒄𝒊ó𝒏;
𝑨 𝒗𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒂 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒕ú𝒏𝒆𝒍.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒆𝒍 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒓,
¡𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔, 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂!
¡𝑺𝒊 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏, 𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒑𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂!

¡𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒐, 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂 𝒏𝒐!
¡𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓, 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂 𝒏𝒐!
𝑬𝒍 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍, 𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂, ¿𝒅ó𝒏𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á 𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓?
¡𝒀 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐, 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐, 𝒚 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒍𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒓á!

𝑬𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒎í 𝒖𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐,
𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒐 𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆;
¡𝑨𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒅í𝒂, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒗í𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒓í𝒂!

𝒀 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆 𝒐 𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒐𝒔,
𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒛𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒎í, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒔;
¡𝑯𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐, 𝒍𝒐 ú𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒂ñ𝒂𝒓!

𝑪𝒂𝒚𝒂'𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏;
¡𝑬𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒓á,
𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒂!

~~

𝑨𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒉á𝒍 𝒏𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒃â𝒚á𝒏,

𝑺𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏,
𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒊 𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒂â𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒅á𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒂,
𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕â 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒉á𝒏𝒂𝒏, 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒂𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈;
𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒘𝒊𝒅, 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈-𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒔𝒊𝒚𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔.

𝑺𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏,
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒕â𝒚𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒈 𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒅 𝒍á𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈,
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒌𝒕𝒐, 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒕û𝒔𝒚𝒐𝒏;
𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂 𝒏𝒈𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒂 𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏.

𝑺𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏,
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒂𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒑 𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂â𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂,
𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔, 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏!
𝑨𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒂, 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏!

𝑨𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒚𝒂𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊!
𝑨𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒂, 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊!
𝑨𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒚𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏, 𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈?!
𝑨𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍, 𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊-𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊, 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝑪𝒂𝒚𝒂'𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏,
𝒎𝒂â𝒂𝒓𝒊 𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏,
𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒖𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒍ô𝒔 𝒐 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒐,
𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒌𝒐;
𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕𝒐, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒘𝒂𝒍á 𝒑𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝑫𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔!

𝑨𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒉á𝒏,
𝒎𝒂â𝒂𝒓𝒊 𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒐 𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒐,
𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐, 𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈-𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈
𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒐;
𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒕á𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐, 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏á𝒌𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒈-𝒂𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒐!


𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐,
𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂

Alam kong umpisa na ng tag-init dyan.
O baka lingid sa kaalaman ko'y
sa susunod na linggo pa o kalaunan.
Ngunit kung paano ang tag-init dyan
o gaano kainit ay hindi ko alam.
Paano ang tag-init dyan sa inyo?
Gaano ka-init ang mainit dyan sa bahay mo?
Sana'y naaarawan ka ng sapat at tama,
sana'y palaging malusog ka at masaya.

Alam mo bang tag-ulan na rito ng Hunyo?
O maaaring para sayo ay patak pa lang,
o marahil mga mumunting tulo.
Ngunit kung gaano kaginaw
o paano ang tag-ulan ay hindi mo alam.
Gaano kaginaw, gaya ba ng taas ng baha?
Paano ang patak ng ulan, tulad ba ng luha?
Sana'y bagyuhin at tangayin ang mga mali,
sana'y mawala na ang alaalang gipit.

Alam kong tag-init na pag Hunyo sa inyo.
Ngunit alam mo ba talaga kung gaano ka-init
kung ikaw sana'y narito sa silid ko?
Alam mo ba ang tunay na tag-init,
gayong di mo pa nararanasan sa bisig ko?
Hindi mo malalaman kung gaano kainit ang mainit
hangga't ika'y wala sa tabi ko.
Ang tunay na tag-init ay nasa aking piling.

Alam mo nang tag-ulan na rito ng Hunyo.
Ngunit kung malalaman mo nga kung gaano kaginaw,
tulad siguro ng paghagkan sa bloke ng yelo.
Alam mo ba ang tunay na tag-ulan,
tila mga patak ng luha kung mawawala ako.
Malalaman mo kung gaano kaginaw ang maginaw
kung mawawala ako sa buhay mo.
Ang tunay na tag-ulan ay ang aking kawalan.

My most beloved,
I've always known, it makes perfect sense.
Why they all want to take you,
away from my arms and from the lull of rest.
Why they all want a piece of you,
it's because you are simply, utterly the best.
My dearest,
it's all because you are heaven-sent.
Because of you, I am brave and I can win.
Your waves are weaved by God himself.
Because of you, I can surf, sink and swim.
But my love,
for you, there is no war I wouldn't fight.
There is no battle that I wouldn't triumph.
No forefronts I wouldn't lead.
No enemy I wouldn't bury dead.
My most beloved sea, my dearest,
𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘬 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘬𝘢
For your laughters, waves and sunset,
𝘐-𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘬𝘰 𝘣𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘨 𝘬𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯.

Tell the church,
the priest can speak and yap all he wants,
his words aren't the truth, he's another man;
at the bottom of it all, he will never be God.

Tell the church,
the believers are not blind followers,
the church is not perfect, it's an institution;
sometimes the dark at the end of the tunnel.

Tell the church,
the people are not their pets to parade,
we are God's children, not church's slaves!
if worse comes to worst, it's because of the church!

God is absolute, the church is not!
God is loving and freeing, the church is not!
God's love is unconditional, with the church, where's the love?!
And God is divine, kind and perfect, and the church will never be!

So tell the church,
they can make an enemy out of me,
burn me at stake or hang me until I bleed;
at the end of the day, to God I'd still believe!

And tell the church,
they can silence me or bind my arms,
dispose of me, turn my bones to charms;
until the end of the world, all they do is harm!

He cruzado los mares,
mientras cargaba mi propia cruz pesada.
He escalado los valles,
mientras cargo mis propias montañas.
Todo esto y más,
dudo que puedas hacerlo por tu cuenta.
Y es por eso que tú y yo somos diferentes.
No puedes ganar una guerra,
sin ser tu propio paraíso e isla.
No se puede saborear la victoria
sin lamer los terrenos del Gólgota.
Todo esto y más,
seguro de que no lo sabrías si no te lo dijera.
Y es por eso que tú y yo no somos iguales.
He surcado mares de fuego,
mis dientes salieron más fuertes
que cien coronas.
He cavado mi propia tumba,
y regresé más poderosa
que mil mesías.
Y por eso soy reina, una eterna.
Y por qué eres sólo un hombre, un mortal.

I have crossed seas,
treaded rocks and island.
To find the truth I seek,
and that in your eyes I found.
The truth they so speak,
is it the effect or the cause?
The truth they so praise,
all in faith and love and your loss.
The truth you deny to preach,
are you afraid I will be lost?
The truth you refuse to grace,
turned to hate and war and my triumph.
I have stepped on all of sands,
tripped on all kinds of rocks.
As petrified as wood are my hands,
you'll never touch nor wrap on your ****.
As fortified as the cold mountain is my heart,
you never broke it, not even set it ablaze.
While you trip on your bed like it's hard,
you'll never find me there because it's late.

Tinawid ko ang karagatan,
binaybay din ang Kabisayaan.
Mula sa hilaga, sa Katagalugan,
mahanap ko lang ang katotohanan.
At makita ko lamang ang kasagutan,
malasap lang ang angkin nitong tabáng.
'Di lang karagatan ang handa kong tawirin,
mga ilog na may buwaya rin, aking giliw.
Makita ko lang sa'yong mata ang saliw
at dampi ng aking nadaramang sakit.
Babaybayin ang buong bayan at isla,
bibilangin ko ang bawat mga tala.
Lilibutin ko ang kabundukan,
lilituhin ating kapalaran.

If my country is going to war, yet again...
I want to let you know that I won't kiss you.
No, at least not in vain.
For my kisses does not soothe,
rather they burn.
Like that of a tropical summer afternoon.
I won't even touch your hand.
No, at least not with mine.
For my hands does not heal,
rather they hurt.
Like they wouldn't know you are not enemy.
If my country is already at war, yet again...
I won't indulge myself to hug you.
No, at least not with this body,
a body that could possibly fail and die.
For my body is one that refuses to live,
in and for a land wherein birds cannot fly.
I won't help myself and look into your eyes.
No, at least not this time.
For my eyes are a pair that refuses to look,
at a bloodbath that I've only read in books.
So if my country goes to war, time and again...

I want to let you know, that no...

I won't kiss you in vain, for I will kiss you
until they drag my body and take me away.
Until drops of my blood are flowing in rivers,
lagoons, farmlands, grass and grains.
I will touch your hand with the promise of sweet victory.
With the news that my mountains
and seas are yours to roam free.
I won't hug you with this body,
but with my bodies of water and seas.
Until you are embraced by the wild waves,
may you taste their liberty.
I won't look at you with my bloodshot eyes,
but with the promise that you will never again
see blood, and with the eternal sunlight
over our vast fields and blue skies.

I want him to be smart and funny,
so I can forget curses and bury older jokes
with the music of our laughters.
I want him to be happy, I'll make him happy,
so we can drown our worries and sorrows
when we're in each other's company.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him faithful.
I want him to take care of me better,
I don't mind a little cold here and there,
as long as we know that our home
is full of warmth and it's ours alone.
I want him kind too, and warm,
so I can forget for a while the world is cruel
when I'm in the safety of his arms.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him gentle.
I want him to hold me tighter than ever,
I don't mind storms every now and then,
as long as we know we are each other's
own sanctuary, safe space and shelter.
I want him loyal and raw as I am,
so we can rest easy and sleep at night
knowing we're the same soul, we are one.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him all to myself and mine alone.

Kumain ka na ba?
Anong oras na.
Oras na para kumain.
Umupo ka na, 'wag mahiya.
Para sa'yo lahat itong nakahain.
Isang oras lang.
Pero busog ka na ba?
Isang oras pa.
Merienda lang, mahal.
Kahit pa hanggang almusal.
Pasensya ka na, ito lang ang hiling.
Hindi na nanaisin pa na ito'y patagalin.
Pwede na ba akong umalis?
Hindi na aasamin na lalong magkamali.
Boses mo ang siyang multo at baon ko.
Ang mga mata ko'y suki ng alaala mo.
Mali ang ito'y piliting maging tama.
Tama na siguro ang muntik na.
Plato at kubyertos ay iligpit na.
At ang basura ay aking susunugin na.
Kutsara at baso ay itago na.
At ang alaala natin ay kalimutan na.

⁠Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me,
I would still ask you
to come sit and eat with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's sent to capture me,
I would still ask you
to stay for a while,
share even this one meal with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's ordered to **** me,
I would still ask you;
"Have you eaten?
Kumain ka na ba?
Ya comiste?
Ja has menjat?"
And if you say you haven't,
I'll take out the plates, but
I'll be angered.
Because look at the time!
And if you say you already did,
then I'd let you take me out,
my head lowered.
You can waste my time!
Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me...

What of languages, if you only need a few words to tell me the truth?

What of learning dialects, if you only need a single sentence to ask the ocean to stay still for a moment?

What use are the multiple languages you speak, when you can't use a single one of them to say what you feel?

What about the new language you taught me, do I forget it and throw it to the sea? What good is it, if I'm slowly becoming mute?

So what of languages, if you only have to answer yes or no?

So what of dialects, if I couldn't even ask you to drown me in your ocean of lies, let your waves sink me, eat me alive?

So what use are the multiple languages we speak, if we can't use a single word, a sentence, not a single language to say
the multitudes of feelings we feel?

What about the new language you taught me?
Do I write about it, let it hurt and ****?
How bad will it be, if I were to die on this hill?

A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of exceptional beauty...
No matter how rare or how valuable,
a pearl waits indeed.
A pearl waits indeed,
for the bravest of divers...
No matter how long or how far,
to swim deep for her historical harvest.
A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of celebrated rarity...
No matter how treacherous the ocean,
a pearl stays still and sits pretty.
A pearl waits indeed,
in the embrace of the sea...
No matter how tumultuous the waves get,
a pearl waits indeed...
A pearl waits...
to be worn as a necklace
or earrings by a poet.
A poet who also refers to herself as a pearl.
A poet so foolishly comparing herself.
But then again, she's not so wrong.
Asking questions to the sky before bed.
Will you pick me up and take me away
from this seabed of moss and loss?
Will you harvest me from the vast ocean
and its mass of loneliness?
A pearl waits...
to be held, touch and kissed by the fingers
of a brave diver, of a worthy surfer...
Or simply by a simple island boy,
whose heart is that of a lion's
and whose hands are able...

Don't worry,
in one of these days I'll be gone,
you wouldn't know where I will be,
you wouldn't know where to would I run.
But don't worry,
it will be in a place where you would like.
you wouldn't know it's in a quaint surftown,
it will be somewhere you'll also wanna hide.

No doubt,
sometime soon I'll be away,
I know you wouldn't feel the longing,
you wouldn't know the feeling of being astray.
But don't doubt,
I'll be in a place where I wanna be with you,
you wouldn't know if I'm in some place warm.
I'll be with you anywhere and you know it too.

So I'll be everywhere.
You'll find me in the air, in flowers, in breeze.
I'll be wherever there's summer, even winter.
I'll be everywhere.
You'll find me in the moon and in palm trees.

But you have to tell me these too;
"I want you gone."
"Please hide."
"Please run."
"You're not the one I like."
"Go away."
"I don't wanna be with you."

Then I'll be gone, I'll go hide.
I'll run, hide some more, and hide, and hide.

Then I'll be nowhere.
You'll find me in the fleeting January air,
I'll be wherever there's no spring, all fall.
I'll be nowhere.
You'll find me in December, or nowhere at all.

What of languages, if you only need a few words to ask how a friend is today?

What of learning dialects, if you only need a single sentence to ask a vendor how much their goods are?

What use are the multiple languages you speak, when you can't use a single one of them to say what you feel?

What about the new language you taught me, if you only speak to me when I do? What good is it, if I were to become mute?

So what of languages, if you can't use them to ask me how I am today?

So what of your dialects, if I couldn't ask you how much your attention is,
or if I could even buy it?

So what use are the multiple languages we speak, if we can't use a single word, a sentence, not a single language to say what we feel?

What about the new language you taught me? Do we let it die or make new jokes?
How good it will be, if they become true?

They are the drops of rain in an island
as you ride through a storm on a motorbike.
The coconuts falling down your head
on a quiet beach.
They are the songs and poems
addressed to or meant to attack politicians.
They are slippery rocks on a river
and the current of a whirlpool
for the heavy steps
of the enemies.
And they are the soft cashmere carpet
and the fine, powdery sands
for the careful steps
of my lovers.