An Unfinished Poem
Some people are, forlorn
While some people, having fun
Some countries, war torn
Other countries, peace on
Some leaders, act like a demon
Leaving the poor masses in rejection
Some behave, like a chosen one
They treat there subjects, like a new born
They loot our money to places like Lisbon
Their children study in places like London
And ours in places like a prison
They eat pork and mutton like a glutton
And ours, we live on raw corn from dusk to morn
They bulid for their family each, a mansion
We live in huts of dejection
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