THE PRICE OF POWER
The market groans beneath a leaden sky,While hungry hands count coins that fade like dust;The rich build towers where the poor pass by,And call it progress, though decay is thrust.Like chained oxen dragging another man’s load,Millions walk silently down a bitter road. Politics sits enthroned in robes of gold,A smiling master with invisible chains;Its promises are bought, its stories sold,While…
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