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Atram Alorim, Daraga (2026)

19/09/2026

It feels heavier when you're not around. I'm frustrated, not to you, but because of how much I valued you more than anything, anyone, including myself. To exclude my needs and wants because for me, you are those two. Slowly it feels lighter to breathe but it doesn't mean I'm not suffering from the same amount of pain you're enduring.

You left a trace for me to find, but it only leads me to another path that questions my worth. I keep on chasing, but as fast as I can go, you can leave quicker as tears can follow. I will always understand you, yet you lack the comprehension of every word I say and my actions towards you. All I ever did was love you, but I guess it's not all just about love to secure myself in your heart.

I tried to give you the love you deserve, the love that can be the light to guide you during your darkest days, but I forgot that the light can be misleading at times, showing us the reality that love is not enough to maintain a relationship nor can it be fixed that easily.

Selfishly I would say: “Please give your time only to me.”
Ignorantly I would say: “You won't leave me, right?”
Forcefully I would say: “It is all right.”

If lying is the only way to keep you, then I'll tie the rope around my neck and bite my tongue raw so I can prevent them from telling you the truth of how it felt—to live on the same boat while the sea is the words I pretend not to say, and let me drown from the thoughts that are already flooding my mind filled with shame and regret. My feelings for you are true, honest enough to the point it learns how to live with lies.

I'm sorry if I'm too sensitive. I'm sorry that I overreacted. I'm sorry that I overthink a lot. I'm sorry if I overanalyze many things about you including the changes in your mood, movements, and more. I'm sorry that I'm too clingy and easily get jealous. I'm sorry if all I can do is overly apologize. I thought that crying will fix the problem that was left undone, but instead it calls for the name of someone who will not return, speaking for the letters that once knew you.

I turned every crumb into a feast for the affection I crave from you. Clinging to the owner where my life revolves around to. Waiting for the same place that continues to fade. I wonder, if I love you less, will you love me more?

08/09/2026

I finally understood why he flew and why he fell. Some depict it as selfishness and greed, but what I saw was a being full of ambition—to reach beyond the limits without restraint, captivated by freedom and flight. We humans do the same; progress and curiosity are among the reasons why we strive and continue—to go beyond of what was told.

Our wings symbolize our efforts, struggles sacrifices, and perseverance. The Sun is our dream—the thing we reach toward, trying to touch and hold what we aspire to become.

To every student who tried their best: whatever the numbers may say, may you remember how far you've flown. Our journey is your journey, and it is only the beginning. Go onward toward the light, but never let its brilliance burn away the path that brought you here.

06/09/2026

It feels lighter when you're not around not because I didn't value your presence but rather I couldn't value mine. But as time passes, it is much heavier when the only person who sees me is gone.

I left with a trace for you to find, hoping that you search me, chase me, giving you hints and clues for you to understand why I did that in the first place even if it means I didn't understand the actions I took or I already did and then I lately realized how badly I treated you when all you did was love me.

You gave me the warmth of your love, but as we get closer, I forgot the heat can burn me. The one piece of puzzle I gave is something for you to complete, but I gave the wrong one that led you to confusion and misery.

I built my walls way too high, whereas no one can get in but at the cost of suffocating myself. You did manage to break through, giving the light that guided me, but at the same time, the same light showed me what I really am. I rebuilt the wall that you broke, but your name is carved into it.

I wish I could love you gently like the ocean and shore without pulling back. I wish I could love you without the leash being too loose or too tight. I wish to love you like a leaf growing from the tree without falling apart. I wish to love you without doubts and hesitations. I wish to love you without the cold rain refused to spring. I wish to love you without guilt and fear. I wish to love you but how can I if it looks like I'm being a selfish person. I wish to love you but I cannot shoulder the fact that you love someone who I hate the most, and that's me. You deserve someone better than me.

I'm sorry if I let you get in to my world where you couldn't breathe and feel safe. It's wrecked, I know, it's a complicated place and you can't tell if you're invited or trespassing. I'm sorry if I'm not the home you dreamt of, I let you in just for you to suffer with me. I thought that leaving and distancing are the only way for you to be free, both you and I, but I guess I will remain a slave to a hatred I couldn't bear to carry, to look at myself in the mirror for the same victim yet suspect that hurt you.

I hope there's still a chance for me to rewind the time 'cause part of me wants you back but I know it won't work like that. Maybe from afar, is the only way I can keep you.

29/08/2026

Limitless words have been born,
And a heart that forever has sworn,
Upon a country's gaze that feels like being torn,
Endless whispers that still continue to mourn.

The centuries feel like just a day's past,
The breath of countless people that didn't last,
To build a nation that starts with trust,
And never let greed turn it to dust.

Written words are never just any words,
They must cut deeper than many swords,
Enough to make the veiled courts in crumble,
Through ink and paper while hands in shamble.

Dignified soul cleanses the injustice,
Ran down by sanguine blood against crisis,
Hope for the future remains a mystery,
But todays voices can make a history.

Present nations must be formed with tranquility,
Against all odds to fight every deadly sin,
Controlled by their false law and sovereignty,
To fight back it must first start from within.

22/08/2026

Many dreams started from a young age,
Yet many of them were sealed within a cage,
Of a mind that has an expressionless rage,
And a heart that couldn't pass the message.

Until those words were written on a tombstone,
Dreams that may not be reached again,
As these people are now fully grown,
Their passion and spark may not be regained.

“Too late” or “too early,” as they say,
But dreams don't have any time to start,
As it is the mind that makes its own art,
It is ‘us’ who will nurture it and make it stay.

“Chase your dreams,” as it runs away from me,
“Improve more,” as it is out of reach,
“Be strong,” as I couldn't stand nor see,
“Tell me you can do it,” as if it were giving its own speech.

It's easy to say to yourself but hard to tell,
As if every part of me denied its own cell,
Or the people around me cannot support or believe,
As my own imagination fades and I continue to grieve.

To a lost dream that I wished to live in,
But I just chose to seal it from within,
Of a hollow heart that once was whole,
Now lies a condemned and fading soul.

Punishing itself for not reaching,
Its achievement is out of touch,
Asking itself if it was far too little or too much,
For a hopeless dream that is beyond seizing.

Maybe some dreams don't die,
Some of them will stay quiet,
Until it's all ready to set,
As tears run down and realized that we cry.

For something that is important to us,
Reflective imagination that comes to life thus,
We chase it with all our might,
Up until the light is near to our sight.

Dreams are not just a simple imagination,
It is a magnificent and creative creation,
But most of us buried it and left all unsaid,
'Till its spark runs out and its hope is dead.

14/08/2026

Many writers are renowned for their words as if giving life to each one of them. Ink and paper, phones and internet—name all of them as tools to write down the words of purpose and be able to pass it all through many.

But sometimes behind those lines that they share, it starts from scratch, scribbled and overanalyzed phrases and sentences. And beyond all of it is a writer that could not notice themselves or even live by those words.

Saying the right thing but failing to act on it is like a thorn that grows inside your mouth and lungs as you say those words, meaningful and yet, you cannot even tell those words to yourself—not a single bit.

Preaching healing while still bleeding. Trying to cover your own wounds by using the same words that you have written, wishing that someone else would say that to you. Instead, you write them so that the reader gets help.

Writing about love, honesty, or courage while avoiding them in real life. You love yourself, but not enough to say it out loud. Honestly, you lie to yourself. Courageous to admit that it hurts a lot.

Hypocrisy lives inside every unspoken mind. The mouth is a messenger of expression that couldn't even do what the body says, as our eyes are closed, ears are shut, and two hands hugged each other to feel the false comfort.

It is a confusing confrontation between the body and left the soul hanging. Asking itself if it is worthy to take part in every decision. Afraid to say something that might hurt the whole body, so it just chose to stay quiet.

Some writers are foolish people that cannot differentiate what "coping" and "hoping" mean. They hope that someday someone will be able to recognize them while still trying to cope with a reality that is hard to face.

Most are sincere authors, truthful to others, but liars to themselves. They tend to be the inspiration of many, but who inspired them to write? It is a question that only they can answer, as it is personal and subjective.

Every stroke of their pen or each time they type a new piece, their mind dances and the heart follows as the soul watches them perform from afar; only then it whisper how fascinating a human can be when it comes to writing.

Perhaps it is not all about being a hypocritical narrator, but something to be proud of for just simply making art to help, inspire, and make connections to as many people, as I told myself for slowly rotting after writing.

I realized that I am no different from them. When I wrote this, I wanted to be a distinctive writer, but I came to my senses and realized that I'm just all the same. The similarities and differences are like the art and the artist.

An art that is made of sorrow, solace, and serenity, but the artist is a mess and has a filthy, chaotic background. And as readers, we tend to forget that what we're reading is made by humans who have forgotten what hypocrisy is.

Those inks that they use to write are made of tears shaped by madness or devices to write a poem that is made of metallic blood and sweat molded by their sadness that they won't dare share nor describe.

Maybe it is not about hypocrisy at all, but the truth that writers disguise their feelings within their words even if no one knows or notices—as art remains the only honest language that is enough to convey how harsh life can be.

08/08/2026

The soft, gentle taste of a warm breeze set by the wind
A luxurious treasure well hidden by our kindred
Yet not secured enough from the eyes of a predator
Bringing order through the inescapable fence
Obedience as demand from above
Silence mistaken for harmony
Sheep led by the coyotes
And coyote's wear the skin of a sheep
They came for the Mother that they already have
Yet the box of gold that continues to slip from its insides
What they brought is something we would not expect
Still water hymns the hiding depth

Oh deliverance, have you witnessed us?
Or do we only see you as privilege that is beyond reaching?
Oh deliverance, did you come for us?
Or you only came so that you can mock us—to dress inequity as a form of salvation for those who are “different”?

My lips touched the sky and the sea
Feet stepped on a sand that's not supposed to be there
A sudden whisper that has shaken my veins
And a shiver of cold that reaches the tip of my hair
Struck of truth that has woken
Truth that is supposed to be a dream
And a dream that supposedly the truth
Reality has shaped its own meaning to us
History made by a complete mess and madness
And freedom is considered a mental illness
Infection that spread among us enchained
Silence, speaking loud through the missing tongue
Voices left alone, distorted through the mist

Oh deliverance, have you witnessed us?
Or do we only see you as privilege that is beyond reaching?
Oh deliverance, did you come for us?
Or you only came so that you can mock us—to dress inequity as a form of salvation for those who are “different”?

Dripping of shallow indifference
And a hollow world that we live in
My fellow brethren as sheep bind
Hold—swayed—by prickled halo worn by the devils
Covenant written on fire, sanctity decayed as command
Deified by birthright, hallowed words used as servitude
Crowned by burning flesh, virtue masqueraded by sinners
Ones' questioned divinity, met the hanging sacred string
Doubt was answered with a silent blessed night
A living bone was met with a loud gaze of terror at dawn
Quiet rain flooded the land
Fire set its eyes upon the clouds as the sky watches
When the churches tremble below the raging ground

Oh deliverance, have you witnessed us?
Or do we only see you as privilege that is beyond reaching?
Oh deliverance, did you come for us?
Or you only came so that you can mock us—to dress inequity as a form of salvation for those who are “different”?

A new shade of blood drifts along the shores
Steel clashes—heaven against the earth
Tainted the trees and they will remember
Names of the fallen, sunlit grace or moonlight grief
Agony preached as reward and misery named as sin
Denial becomes death, chainsmiths as kings and queens
Mountain sees the inevitable
And the ocean remained immovable
As the flame spread among the destined grave
Valiant hearts for the forsaken brave
Once worshipped the coyotes inside the den
Now sheep's clothes has its poisonous trace
Identity will murmured along the darkened smug

Oh deliverance, have you witnessed us?
Or do we only see you as privilege that is beyond reaching?
Oh deliverance, did you come for us?
Or you only came so that you can mock us—to dress inequity as a form of salvation for those who are “different”?

We are damned from the very start!
Howl of the scratching voice,
afraid, sorrow,
wishful mourn.
They will screech and run,
afraid, sorrow,
painful chase.
Eyes are blind for the wicked.
Ears are deaf from the truth.
Mouth is mute against hell.
“FEAR, VIOLENCE, DEFIANCE”
UNTAMED, UNSEALED, UNLEASHED
Hunters and the hunted.
We are damned from the very end!

Oh deliverance, where have you been?

We have seen the light as a tool of judgement
Unsighted and burned by our own prayers
Mistook vengeance as benevolence we longed for
Something we could have understood from the beginning
Eons passed by the narrowing leaf
Oil and water above and beneath the soil
Horrors in the timid stare are proof
Of once battle never fought but threatened
How it reshaped the mind of the strongest weakling
None shall revisit the pain
But one must never forget
How history was written through blood and stones
And why it still linger within our wretched souls

Oh deliverance, why did you mask yourself to bring salvation for those who are forever deemed different...?

08/08/2026

“Isang daang tula” at higit pa.

Atram Alorim

19/09/2026

08/09/2026

06/09/2026

29/08/2026

22/08/2026

14/08/2026

08/08/2026

08/08/2026

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