Lenders of Chains

They came not with swords, but contracts in hand, With smiles that curdled like poisoned sand. World Bank, IMF — dressed in divine intent, But behind every loan was a nation's lament. They called it aid, we called it debt, A collar on the neck, a future beset. They promised bridges, but built no roads, They promised freedom, then handed codes. Our children’s hunger signed the dotted line, While theirs drank wine aged sweet with time. Economic sodomy in boardrooms cold, Raping our hopes for silver and gold. They taught us numbers that never added up, Left us drinking tears from a broken cup. Privatize the water, sell your sun — Now see who owns the rain when the deal is done. Our fathers begged with bowed-down eyes, Our mothers paid with silent cries. Entire nations left to crawl, While towers rise in Washington’s hall. But karma walks on barefoot fire, And history listens with deep desire. The winds are shifting, the tides awake, And no thief shall keep what they did not make. The poor now rise, not with plea but flame, And speak in tongues that know no shame. Shall we forgive? We may. But forget? Never — not while blood and bond are wet. Under this cosmos, the cycle turns — And empires fall the way the fire burns. Let the West beware what the East remembers — No winter lasts through all Decembers.