Born But To Pay Tax. Poem by Wangchat konyak

I earned my bread with sweat and toil,
My skin scorched by the midday sun,
My fingers bruised from tilling soil,
My ribs and nerves in constant run.
Each dawn I rose to bend my back,
And toiled with gentle smile intact.

But then you appeared from nowhere,
Claiming credit for my hard work done,
Telling the world that you were fair,
And that you gave me more than one.
You imposed your rules and taxes high,
Demanding that I bow and comply.

You levied a tax upon my head,
Saying it was for the common good,
But now I see the truth instead,
My existence meant to serve your hood.
I was born with deficits they say,
And my life is but to pay your way.