They board their respective planes with heavy sighs,
their bags are filled with long goodbyes.
The scent of home clings soft, yet near,
their children’s laughter they still hear.
They leave not out of selfish will,
but love that breaks, yet chooses still.
Far from the islands of their birth,
they labor hard in foreign earth.
They build up cities not their own,
raise children they have never known.
Their hands that work hard, that mend, that bear,
are scarred by pain, yet shaped by care.
Their crowns are forged from toil and tears,
from love that conquers endless years.
Their work sustains both home and state,
it fills the pot, it guards the gate.
Each dollar sent, each coin they save,
is proof of all the strength they gave.
The nation’s lifeblood flows from this,
a sacrifice too vast to miss.
Even the coffers swell and rise,
through sweat beneath far-flunged skies.
And yet when storms begin to break,
when cries for help the workers make,
they’re left unheard, they’re left alone,
their pain dismissed, their pleas unknown.
Called “heroes” loud in speeches grand,
forgotten when they need a hand.
Still, love endures across the seas,
in every gift, remittance, fee.
A voice on screen, a fleeting call,
an absent touch that says it all.
Each dream sustained, each child who grows,
each roof that stands — their labor shows.
So listen close, for there they stand,
the unseen heroes of this land.
Not only praised when cash arrives,
but honored truly, while alive.
With care, protection, rightful claim,
with dignity beyond a name.
The world may never see their face,
nor know the cost of love’s embrace.
Yet history bears the truth they weave:
a nation rises when they grieve.
Not all heroes wear capes of might,
some work in silence, out of sight.
Their story lives, their love’s decree:
a sacrifice across the sea.
The heroism which other people neglect
But nonetheless we must protect.
Not all heroes wear capes,
some are amplified in different shapes.
| via Vincent John Infante, Pressroom PH
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