LatinosUSA

DYNASTY OF DUST AND SULFUR by: Khaley Dela Rama

The republic sounds like a cathedral bell with cracks
We can still hear its loud rings
But every peal comes with scripted yells
The chambers holding their own gavels
Like butchers that polishes their cleavers
Recurring surnames skulking across the earth-toned hall
Mistaken the government for inheritance

The public watches through phones
glowing like votive candles
Unsure whether democracy is still a house of laws
Or merely a mausoleum
The dynasties rehearse resurrection
But the ones being pierced on the cross is the entire nation
But the nation needs a real savior
Not the ones who act like brave warrior
The dead return not as bodies
But as afidavits reflected on statistics
Ghosts of the illegal past
Now walks around corridors with whimpers
And smells like heavy iron, ancient dust, and bitter sulfur

The system becomes a theater of clowns
With the old alliance fractures publicly
Two empires once stitched together by convenience
Now gnawing at each other for selfish allegiance
They try to put off the blindfold of the woman carved in stone
And forces her to alter the weight measurement
They dragged her into debates
about whether justice can cross oceans,
whether sovereignty is a shield or an alibi,
whether leaving a treaty also means leaving accountability
the criminals are trying to slip out their way from history

The Constitution lies open on podiums
like a Bible no one intends to follow.
Senators rearrange themselves
like chess pieces pretending not to know.
The king has already been chosen.
But that king has nowhere to goThe nation, meanwhile,
is governed by surnames fattened through generations,
a genealogy of velvet thrones,where elections become family reunions

And the people?
The people inherit the bill.

Police sirens become lullabies of unease.
Courtrooms resemble casinos.
Truth is algorithm-fed,
seasoned by trolls,
served hot on engineered timelines
to make outrage of their lies

Here, misinformation breeds faster
than mosquitoes after typhoon rain.
Does impeachment cleanse
or merely rearrange the stain?
Can justice survive
when power shares the same bloodline as immunity?
When did public service become hereditary monarchy?

Oh, how many more cofins, hearings, cases
must be piled together
before the republic finally admits
that its deepest wound
is not corruption alone
but the terrifying normalcy of it.

Still, morning arrives.
Vendors continue arranging cigarettes
beside menthol candies
Students still memorize constitutions
but are not sure how to protect them.
Somewhere, a child still raises a flag in school
without yet knowing
how heavy that cloth can become.

And perhaps
that is the cruelest metaphor of all:
a nation forever rehearsing freedom
owned by the same families.

Why do we have to plead for something that is ours?

---

Khaley Dela Rama, a registered social worker originally from Dipolog City and now based in Cavite, is a writer and performance poet whose works navigate the intersections of humanity, resistance, and everyday Filipino life. Rooted in both art and social advocacy, her pieces confront personal longing alongside socio-political realities, transforming lived experiences into narratives that provoke reflection and conversation.
She has found creative and collective grounding in organizations such as DIPAG INK and LAYA Philippines, where she continues to amplify stories that are often unheard, uncomfortable, yet necessary. Through poetry and performance, Khaley strives to create spaces where vulnerability becomes resistance and where words become instruments of remembrance, truth, and liberation.

Social Media Accounts:
Facebook Page: Khaley Space
Instagram: @kly.space
TikTok: @khaleyramalade