#Review: Winds of Sovereignty by Sen. Francis Tolentino
Winds of Sovereignty
Poet: Sen. Francis Tolentino
Publisher: Tolentino Maritime Publications
Rating: 4.5/5
Reading Winds of Sovereignty felt like stepping onto a quiet, wind-swept lookout at the edge of the Philippines and simply listening. What I appreciated most was how the collection doesn’t rely on grand declarations of patriotism; instead, it builds its emotional weight from small, precise, sensory truths—moments where stone, sea, and solitude become metaphors for national endurance.
Right from the opening section, Tolentino sets the tone with an image that lingered with me: Mavulis as “a lonely place, yet strong, yet true, / a sentinel for me and you”. That blend of vulnerability and resilience runs throughout the book. The poems are not simply about a strategic outpost; they’re about the emotional architecture of guardianship—what it means to hold the line when the world isn’t watching.
Some of the lines that struck me hardest were the simplest. In “The Grass Fields, Three Feet Tall,” the island’s stubborn vegetation becomes a philosophy: “In storms, the stalks flatten… but when the sky clears, / they rise again… the measure of defiance”. It is minimalistic but potent, and it sets the tone for the soldiers’ quiet perseverance. Likewise, in “The Desalination Song,” Tolentino captures the poetry of survival through the most basic necessity: “freedom sometimes comes in the taste of water / hard won from the sea”.
What I found unexpectedly moving was how the poems connect the island to people far beyond its shores. “Voices of Filipino Workers in Taiwan” reframes Mavulis not just as a military outpost but as a symbolic embrace: “They carry the Philippines with them, / and in return, the rock of Mavulis carries them”. The book becomes, in moments like these, less about geopolitical vigilance and more about belonging.
If I have one critique, it’s that certain refrains—sovereignty, vigilance, freedom—repeat across multiple poems. But the repetition feels almost intentional, like the rhythmic crashing of waves on the same faithful shore.
By the time I reached “My Island, Mavulis”, with its heartfelt assertion “here the flag once caught the sky, / and here I vowed it will not die”, the collection had quietly worked its way under my skin.
This book isn’t loud; it’s steadfast. And perhaps that is exactly the point.
