Ritwal sa Dilim

 

In the hush of evening, a hand holds flame.

Not to banish darkness,
but to invite it in—
to sit beside memory,
to warm the silence.

The black candle burns slowly,
its light not loud, but steady.
Beside it, golden flames rise from brass and glass,
guarded by red carnations and dried leaves—
symbols of grief, of love, of time that does not forget.

This is not spectacle.
It is ceremony.
A moment carved from the ordinary,
where the living speak softly to the dead
and the dead, perhaps, listen.

“Ang liyab ay alaala. Ang dilim ay tahanan.”
(The flame is memory. The dark is home.)

© 2025 Amee  Tala at Dilim Writes