Restless Crowd
At thirty-five imperial gallons
Or one hundred fifty-nine liters
Match a barrel of crude
Which every day, millions you export
To the disappointment of all others
Fellow citizens, to whom your gluttony assaults
Still, to Mother Nature
We should be grateful
Despite much energy resource
With which they generate poverty
And all sorts of mistreatment
Each and every corner I turn
In this concrete jungle
I face myself with a sad panorama
Where the crowd
Restless, complains
Of the public treasure, that old rogues
Without fear fleeces
O flabbergasted, but indifferent
How many of you
In the restless crowd review yourselves?
Copyright © Alberto Secama | Year Posted 2015
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