08/11/2024
Typhoon Yolanda: Echoes and Ash
The wind spoke words we’d never heard before—
a fierce, howling voice that ripped through the dawn,
a force so wild and boundless,
it tore down our walls,
leaving us exposed to the stars,
and the unrelenting rain.
We held tight to one another
as the sea flooded our streets,
waves rising like hands,
grasping for everything we loved,
everything we believed was safe.
Morning arrived as a quiet murmur,
soft and wounded,
showing us a world we could hardly recognize.
What was left of houses, of trees,
pieces of lives scattered along the shore.
We became collectors of memories,
sorting through rubble,
finding shoes, torn clothes, a child’s toy—
things that once held laughter,
now marked by the stillness of loss.
Day by day, our hands are rebuilt,
cut by shards of broken glass,
scraped raw by bricks and wood.
We stitched together the story of home,
even as the sky threatened to fall again.
Each nail, each stone was a small rebellion,
our way of saying,
We are still here.
We carry those we lost in our hearts,
in the strength of our hands,
in a love that refuses to surrender.
Now, when the wind blows,
we stand a little taller,
our hearts are a little braver,
knowing we’ve survived the storm’s harshest wrath,
we’ve made it through the breaking,
and found ourselves whole,
reborn in the wake of it all.
(Photos from Google)
