SWITZERLAND
I walked your streets.
Clean.
Silent.
Beautiful.
Yet beneath marble order,
blood remembers.
Zurich smiled.
The Limmat whispered.
It knows the names
money forgets.
Here, gold arrives
without questions.
Here, crime washes its hands
and calls it neutrality.
No empire of land.
No empire of soil.
An empire of vaults.
Of silence.
Lake Zurich wept.
“We are rich,” it said,
“but our wealth stands
on borrowed bones.”
Drug lords rest here.
Murderers sleep well.
Stolen futures
earn interest.
Perhaps you had no choice.
Perhaps survival chose you.
But Machiavelli warned:
Power fed by shadow
must answer the dark.
He who lives by the sword,
dies by the sword.
What is taken in secrecy
returns in time.
With witnesses.
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