He robbed me of the little money
I had, and left me penniless poor
He was too strong for me
Though fought, I could not fend.
What can a pauper do?
I couldn’t go to the police
Only money is able to make
Them, their uncaring ears, lend!
I see the culprit arrogantly walk
Before me with swollen chest
With a crooked smile on his lips
In his pocket he keeps the cops and courts!
My belly shouts against the injustice
But the voice can’t touch him
He is ensconced on a concreted throne
Smugly secure behind seven forts!
He travels in the air like gods
Trotting the distant lands at wish
While with the few impotent coins
The grain grocer I fear to face
Revolution, revolution I hear in the
air
Who will bring it to me ever?
The gun carriers roaming the forests
Will they dawn dignity and grace?
Xavier Bage
Fri, May 11, 2018
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