The Game Of Greed Poem by Chandrashekar a posy poet

On the onset
of raging wildfire of -
Caste, creed and colour.
On helpless and the most hapless,
Of hunger and ill health of peasants,
Of persisting poverty.
All they dream is a morsel of bread
to breathe and witness
Dancing deaths of despair
like wriggling worms and arid ants
None accounted for...

Nature's precious gifts and treasures robed in haste
By few in the name of progress and prosperity
and you are promptly billed
by each breath, light and every drop of water,
then summoned, threatened
or hunted as goose if need be.
These Blood bugs
Only stop at skeletons.

Make sure
you are worth its salt
to be counted.
Poverty has no place
at daunting desert of heartless reign
of Satan at the helm!

The mighty play
The game of greed
Unleashing vivid and varied designs of deceptions
and as usual the Satan plays their tune
sans resistance of solemn surrender.