// poetry
The Creator is my friend,
But first He’s my Master Supreme;
In the blizzard of chaos,
Envisage the future in a vivid dream,
How will the pieces fit?
Have I been left in this landscape alone?
Till when will I resist the bloodsucking mafia?
But then I hear a crackling of a bone...
An Invisible Hand on the oppressor
Who build palatial abodes with a grin
The source of their cash tarnished with blood
Their accounts not in a bank, but a bin.
Feigning absolute monarchy
Like a crazy dog usurping a territorial zone
When the Heavenly Hand is heavy on some heads
Like a distraught dog do they moan.
There’s a treacherous dog in my lane
With a deceitful button in his hand
He shall be struck with blazing lighting,
By his adversary he shall be buried in sand.
Fear is their currency,
They extort the gullible and the simple;
If you can, SHOOT ME IN MY HEAD,
Yes, possibly on my right temple.
The Creator has everything covered,
Absolute monarchy lies with the King;
The Mafia sent away in filthy body bags,
While the autonomous hearted joyously sing.
