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She lies between the border
of moonlit waters and sun-kissed shores.
Treading uncertainly between realities,
she is both monster and savior in their stories.
She is the virgin and harlot
dancing over the living and the dead.
She is the indignant shout and unheard whisper
of their prayers left unsaid.
She is the chord of harmony and center of chaos.
She is patron saint for the saved and lost.
She is Magdalene kneeling by the cross ….

She is the maiden, the crone and the mother.
Nursing the haves and the have-nots;
she is Fate determining each of their lot.
She is an immortal who rises and falls.
She is a siren and I cannot resist her call ….

She is my city.
She is my home.
She is Manila.
And I can hear her strong heart beating true
to the changing rhythm of old and new,
refusing to stay silent
even in the darkest night —
steadfastly keeping
latching on to the living
tenaciously surviving —
bidding her time
patiently waiting
for the morning light.

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