Devil's World Cup
Money
walked onto the pitch.
Politics
blew the whistle.
And football,
the beautiful game,
forgot
its own soul.
The 2026 World Cup
became
a theatre
where business
shared the field
with power.
When profit
becomes
the highest trophy,
fairness
leaves the stadium.
For the first time,
many watched
and wondered
whether politics
had crossed
the white lines.
The game
was no longer
just football.
It had become
something else.
The beautiful game
cannot breathe
where greed
writes the rules.
The signs
stand openly
before us.
Corruption
casts
a long shadow.
Justice
grows silent.
When power
chooses
the winners,
hope
begins to fade.
The weak
enter the field
already carrying
the weight
of defeat.
And sport,
which should unite,
becomes
another battlefield.
Perhaps
the Global South
must one day
build
its own arena.
Its own tournament.
Its own dream.
A place
where talent
is measured
before influence.
Where merit
stands above
money.
One day,
history
will return
to this tournament.
It will ask
not who lifted
the trophy,
but whether
the game itself
remained true.
For the greatest victory
is not won
by wealth.
Nor by power.
Nor by politics.
It is won
when the spirit
of football
stands above them all.
Only then
will the World Cup
belong
to the world.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.