By James Pascua

Oh merciless king,
You watched her plummet down,
As the farmers howl
in excruciating pain.

Oh merciless king,
It is from them, the food that you consume
but instead you offered them a tomb.

When you sat on your throne,
With your promise of gold,
Your act was so flawless,
While you called them lawless.

With a bow and arrow 
and eyes that bore no sorrow,
You shot their prices down.

Our farmers’ blood was smeared across the soil,
While the foreigners that you spoil
celebrate as their stock went off the uptrend,
Leaving locals helpless in the downtrend.

You offered a solution that showed no contemplation,
They cried for revision, but you branded it sedition.
Now met with bullets, the farmers are backed against the wall.
I now come to your throne with ill tidings
What do you intend to do, oh merciless king?

(Illustration by Shalea Miñon/FEU Advocate)