God’s Plan | Glitch they are: Poem

In a world where sources are in limit

Where no one knows what could efforts elicit

 

Where there are people filthy rich

There are people as perfect as glitch

 

A whooping population cries out loud

For price propelling in the world to out

 

Tragic is the fact that they still know how to just smile

Bear the pain, keep quiet all the while

 

Great men make the nation proud

To their human kind those who have vowed

 

Strange it is, not all reach the fame

Money matters and plays the game

 

Where a man dreams of decent bedding

The country holds more than thousands of lives’ important wedding

 

Strangely, dictatorship is gone

Letting the dictators behind on their own

They are working their way up being the king

Gradually, to seize power of almost everything

 

Here, a farmer struggles for meager earn

Who’s the head? who cares to learn

They are all the same

Fueled by money, run by fame

 

Perhaps, they don’t realize or could have forgot

God’s plan will place them in a plot

Where they might rise from their own dug pot

Or be known by history as just another blot

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