Poor guy, you're blооdy rich;
Even Forbes doesn't know how much!
One may dream of your fortune, which
You take every chance to enlarge.
New technologies, oil and gas,
Modern weapons and, maybe, drugs -
Many ways to achieve success,
Many efforts to top the slugs.
You were taught from the early years
To despise them, the vulgar herd.
Take the best from the world! No shares!
It's for trade, not for breaking bread.
And to please your exclusiveness
Simple kindness is not enough.
Although, if you can't buy some love,
You can certainly pay for sex.
You believe in the power of gold.
You believe, it's your joker card.
So you've stamped the name of God
On your monies, not in your heart.
Never tired of being a slave
Of your endless excessive claims
You look serious as a grave,
Feeling tired of something else.
Go to bed, which is pure down!
But somehow it can't give a rest.
Will you order another one?
You've got twenty of them, no less.
Sleeping pills, worth their weight in gold,
Make you dream of a poor girl
Dying slowly of hunger and cold
On the other side of the Wall…
Sirens wailed around the block.
What is sinking inside your chest?
It's your heart like a lagging clock.
It's your Death, unexpected guest.
We are peers in His lethal clutch,
And your power was a bluff.
Immortality is too much -
All your money is not enough.
Never mind, if you missed it:
Nothing worthy of bitter tears,
'Cause Eternity isn't sweet,
If there's no one to share it with.
____________________
(Ukhta,29 Jan 2016)
Not Enough is a cultivation of rhyming wisdom for the Ages, and I like how you cleverly refer to death as an 'unexpected guest' when so often that is exactly how it makes its ugly entrance. 'For what shall it a prophet a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? ' Mark 8: 36
Your poem has the inevitablility of Greek Tragedy, or maybe I should make the reference closer to home, namely, Dostoevskian inevitability. You introduce the theme of death in the sixth stanza with the word GRAVE but it's not his death until the ninth stanza when death is THE UNEXPECTED GUEST, and all of his thoughts and schemes, lusts and delights, privileges and perks, all the clutter of his life collapses and he does not even have the time to properly prepare his soul. Emily Dickinson agrees with your theme, SINCE COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH, HE KINDLY STOPPED FOR ME. Yet another hammer blow of inevitability in case we haven't yet seen the light of truth because of all the distracting glitter. This is a classic poem, Galina.
Well said and nicely put together. The gap between rich and poor forever widens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'if you can't buy some love, You can certainly pay for ' Powerful punching lines. A nice write that gives some good message 10/10