I knew a man once by the name of money.
Worshipped by all, but quite canny.
He never found people the same,
Respecting some and others he shamed.
Drove the destitute to a wall of bricks.
The sight of the poor would make him sick.
His business, was truly all about people and people alone.
And wherever he went, he found people carrying his clones .
But like any modern being full of right and wrong.
His love for the smaller didn’t last long.
Some would bring his unnatural bias to the law,
But they found the jurisdiction under his claw.
Wherever ran the privileged and the elite.
His presence was always at sight.
And when I asked him about the rest of the world,
He dismissed them and called them at his dearth.
Too many, just so many, who annoyed this man.
Always begging for alms, as much as they can.
As the world had grown to it’s present state.
The truth was the man aged millions of times in haste.
He remembers himself as a boy quite spry and young,
Whose role amongst the people’s the lives remains unsung.
He recites his internal wishes, the ones that are true.
Without a hint of happiness and no sense or clue.
“An idea in my mind thrives,
That when the future shall arrive.
Bringing with itself a wave of predictable turmoil,
One that cannot be controlled or soiled.
People shall look upon their lives.
And question the riches and the chives.
Realize full well there is no good, no bad
But a clear mix of unprovoked circumstance.
Some born in wealth and some born in squalor,
Some born cowards and some taller.
The truth is that you humans are all bound,
Not by sights, thoughts or your sounds.
But by a chaotic system which seems unfair,
Some who cannot forbear and some who can bear.
A prejudice not on color, place or time.
But whether filling pockets is a crime.
To worship money alone is wrong.
Money, just isn’t happiness, not for long.
But truly look within deep and to your conscience ask,
If it were no object, then how does it really last.
How it brings a frown among those downtrodden,
And brings envy to those who earn solemn.
Why is it that a man who bids farewell and departs,
Prevails in the present, by the size of his pocket and not his heart.
Then do tell me, humankind why does it still exist.
And tops people’s priorities in all lists.
So dear human, money is not just a sole object.
It is a lot more, no matter how people object.
It is a music, written meticulously in cotton and linen song.
Whose tune has enslaved industries, empires and the world for long.
It is a coin with sides of a nation’s future and past,
Which wouldn’t be so bad, if I had let it last.
It is your rate in your time and day.
A rate of your reality, a dream so far away.”
Worshipped by all, but quite canny.
He never found people the same,
Respecting some and others he shamed.
Drove the destitute to a wall of bricks.
The sight of the poor would make him sick.
His business, was truly all about people and people alone.
And wherever he went, he found people carrying his clones .
But like any modern being full of right and wrong.
His love for the smaller didn’t last long.
Some would bring his unnatural bias to the law,
But they found the jurisdiction under his claw.
Wherever ran the privileged and the elite.
His presence was always at sight.
And when I asked him about the rest of the world,
He dismissed them and called them at his dearth.
Too many, just so many, who annoyed this man.
Always begging for alms, as much as they can.
As the world had grown to it’s present state.
The truth was the man aged millions of times in haste.
He remembers himself as a boy quite spry and young,
Whose role amongst the people’s the lives remains unsung.
He recites his internal wishes, the ones that are true.
Without a hint of happiness and no sense or clue.
“An idea in my mind thrives,
That when the future shall arrive.
Bringing with itself a wave of predictable turmoil,
One that cannot be controlled or soiled.
People shall look upon their lives.
And question the riches and the chives.
Realize full well there is no good, no bad
But a clear mix of unprovoked circumstance.
Some born in wealth and some born in squalor,
Some born cowards and some taller.
The truth is that you humans are all bound,
Not by sights, thoughts or your sounds.
But by a chaotic system which seems unfair,
Some who cannot forbear and some who can bear.
A prejudice not on color, place or time.
But whether filling pockets is a crime.
To worship money alone is wrong.
Money, just isn’t happiness, not for long.
But truly look within deep and to your conscience ask,
If it were no object, then how does it really last.
How it brings a frown among those downtrodden,
And brings envy to those who earn solemn.
Why is it that a man who bids farewell and departs,
Prevails in the present, by the size of his pocket and not his heart.
Then do tell me, humankind why does it still exist.
And tops people’s priorities in all lists.
So dear human, money is not just a sole object.
It is a lot more, no matter how people object.
It is a music, written meticulously in cotton and linen song.
Whose tune has enslaved industries, empires and the world for long.
It is a coin with sides of a nation’s future and past,
Which wouldn’t be so bad, if I had let it last.
It is your rate in your time and day.
A rate of your reality, a dream so far away.”
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