They paint desire on a billboard sky,
Plant hunger where no hunger grew,
Whisper you are less until you buy
The wholeness they invented too.
The worker rises, makes the thing,
His hands the origin of the gain,
Then buys it back, a offering
To feed the loop that built his chain.
Screens flicker like a slow-cast spell,
Each jingle laced with borrowed need,
The common man, both source and well,
Tilled twice to make another feed.
Profit floats to a distant shelf,
Counted where the maker's not,
While he, who built it with himself,
Owns nothing but the wanting bought.
Satisfaction, packaged, sold,
Returns to hands that never labored,
The dream is his, the coin is cold,
And someone else's ledger's favored.
Wake, they say — but not too far,
Just far enough to reach the door,
Where want is manufactured, a star
Pointing always back to more.
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Author:
Devender Kumar (
Online) - Published: September 6th, 2026 09:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Online)
Comments2
A capitalist hymn in this poem well rhymed and making total $ cents. A sobering and sad write of the way things are. Well done and a fave
nice write
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