Corte

 

By : Leonaga Tulabing –Larena 1991

In the dusty hush of a crumbling hall,
Where echoes linger and memories crawl,
She stands alone, black veil drawn tight,
A widow seeking what’s just and right.

The papers clutched, her hands near shake,
Each word a wound, each breath she takes—
A tale of care, of bills unpaid,
Of love and loss, now weighed in shade.

Her husband gone, the bed grown cold,
But debts remain, both new and old.
Her evil face watched from distant throne,
Yet now demands what’s not her own.

The stepmother speaks in polished steel,
“No burden mine, you signed the deal.”
But who was there through fevered nights?
Who bore the cost, the quiet fights?

The court is weary, its ceiling cracked,
Its walls like truth—half-painted, lacked.
Still she speaks, her voice like flame,
Not out of vengeance, not to shame—

But to remind the laws and stone,
That grief should never stand alone.
For justice isn’t clean or bright,
It walks through dust, and pleads for light.

So here she stands, with heart laid bare,
Not for revenge, but just repair.
In Corte’s shade, she’ll make them see—
What’s fair, what’s owed, what pain should be.