In this ocean of probabilities and uncertainties,
it's not death that I am most afraid of
since death is the only thing that is certain
yet, it's life and to be alive

In death, you only have one possibility
your nonexistent; an eternal darkness
of which light could never reach again,
even your loudest scream sounds like a long silence

In life, every steps taken create alternate endings,
perhaps sometimes you made the right choices
but when it comes that you didn't, it will haunt you
for the rest of your life that you'd start to wonder;

"what happened if you'd only brave enough to take the risk?"
"what's on the other side of the roads you didn't take?"
"what are the opportunities that you have missed?"
"what if what you thought was right, wasn't?"

Thus live, instead of just being exist and present
worry not of your demise, but every seconds you spent
for life and death is only as thin as a thread;
make sure it is worth your while

There are glory and victory in every battles
Yet there are more bleeding and suffering
Glory doesn’t bring back the dead to the living
Victory heals neither scars nor wound, let alone fixing the broken ribs

There are villains and heroines in every war
Yet there are more desolation and devastation
Villains are written in history by the side who wins
Heroines are what they call themselves after slaughtering the innocent

There are rebellion and revolution in every regime
Yet there are more poverty and misery
Rebellion is done by fewer people against jeopardy
Revolution is an act of people power against oppresive authority

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they call you names and harass your crown on the street
When they tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with your body

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they pluck your honey against your will yet they tell them you enjoy it
When they touch your skin yet they left it bleeding and bruised

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they want you to cover your scars and pimples because they don’t meet the “beauty” standards
When they forcibly ask you to shave your hair because it doesn’t potray cleanliness and hygiene

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When your rose is blooming and the moon is come but they show you their cold shoulders
When they make fun of your shape and laugh it off but they refuse to make a clean breast of it as an insult

Thus rise, dear sister
—for your pain is mine to carry
—for your wound is mine to mend
—for your war is mine to fight

My mother never gave birth to a girl
Neither did her and my father ever raise a daughter
Yet, they raised a wolf—wild, fearless, strong, and resilient

They told me to howl at everything I found misfit;
to bark as a warning sign,
to riot as an act of resistance

The dust is so lucky,
It gets to touch your sun-kissed skin and
caress your crimson hair that carries Summer memories

The sun is so lucky,
It gets to feel the warmth of your smile every morning
when you read your newspaper like it’s your breakfast

The moon is so lucky,
It gets to have your company every night when you dance to Frank Sinatra and having a glass full of bad wine

The stars are so lucky,
They get to feel your heartbeat echoes
while you were dreaming of some far away places

The galaxy is so lucky,
It gets to see its reflection through your eyes;
so crystal clear that it confuse the constellation

The whole universe is lucky
—but me