For its brick walls were blotched with redness
Like a child with a high grown fever,
The tolling of its bells, bounty and scared.
The plaza on its façade, a space of endearment
For the taho vendors in selling their drinkable breakfast
And the jeepneys whose wheels turning to Divisoria
The church is tacit yet bearing,
Sentiments of the mestizos and mestizas
Of martyrdom and ambivalence
For its name, a sanctuary.
