The match begins with pomps and grins―
two kings pretend they're not akin.
One stands on red, the other green,
both have ruled through brutal means.

The knights march with press releases,
promising justice, reforms, and pieces—
of peace, perhaps. With bloodied hands,
they blessed graves of those they damned.

The first pawn dies with no name, no face,
just “drug suspect” in a shadowed place.
A boy who ran, a girl who pleaded,
now statistics—cold and dead.

One rules with iron, the other with charm,
but both have done the people harm.
They play with lives like loaded dice—
we are the wager, they set the price.

And when the board is nearly bare,
they’ll call it peace; they’ll say it’s fair.
The match ends. Draw. Two kings remain.
No justice served. No guilt. Just pain.

They walk away chanting songs of victory—
While mothers are left with grief to carry.

- Sean Clifford Malinao

(Illustration by Alexandra Lim/FEU Advocate