In the corridors where power bows,
a businessman dons the crown,
with a ledger for a heart, he vows,
to trade humanity for profit's gown.
Tariffs rise like stormy tides,
crushing dreams on foreign shores,
while the hungry, with silent cries,
beseech the wealth that soars and soars.
A battleground of shifting costs,
where skill and privilege choose their side,
yet in the shadows, compassion's lost,
as humanity is pushed aside.
In every policy, lives entwined,
each number holds a story's weight,
yet greed will blind the noble mind,
and we'll barter hope for fiscal fate.
Oh, hear the echoes of the meek,
the voices crushed beneath the frame,
In the theater of the strong and sleek,
shall we wake, or play the deadly game?
Who knows what will happen
when the thread that weaves our kin,
A world where both may rise again—
not pitted against, but held within.
Remember this, as battles wage,
that in the trade of hearts and souls,
real wealth is found on every page
where kindness is the currency that rolls.
Now done with killing people by weapons they retort to killing by starvation and hunger. God save the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very timely write, powerful and meaningful! A must read....a masterpiece. Brilliant closure lines! ! !