I've heard loud silence of Manila lately,
and it is so sincere that whispers...

Is your sky still crimson?
Does Manila draw a lonely Azalea...

You always disappear
like Dandelions on a sunspot-filled road...

Why I always come back to you?
Might be the night breeze...

Subtly,
its fragrance pervades the air...

I've never known
you will appear like...

Your footsteps are never meant
to decorate this lonely alleyway...

This afternoon feels like
the time I wrote again...

A brown paper
encourages me to write...

I remember that July 24 afternoon one yesteryear
as Giant Brocade Crowns bloom in the night sky...

Those orange streetlights
that are illuminating the cars that are parked...

No, I don't mind
being greeted by Dandelions...