A father clutches a sack of rice—
iron bites his wrist, no mercy, no delay.
Two-faced gods in barongs rule still;
hunger learns faster than faith can pray.

His collar stiff, his smile divided—
one mouth charms the crowd’s applause,
the other gnaws the nation’s bone,
while marble halls conceal the cause.

Time bleeds over roads that never stood,
walls that never held, bridges that never bridged.
Floodwalls crumble before the storm,
yet his feasts grow fat on stolen hands.

One law binds the hungry,
another guards the feast.
We pay in sweat that dries unseen,
while they toast beneath chandeliers.

Janus walks unchained—
one face blessed, the other blamed.
He drinks from mirrored glass,
And both reflections look the same.

Neither look our way,
and still—we pay.

Editor’s Note: This literary piece was first issued in the August-November 2025 First Semester Newsletter of Atenews.