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THE ESOTERIC

Losses abound, sorrows abound,
Abound is everything else.
But success remains too dear
For the multitude, which the rich
Do buy it cheap on the loots
Hoarded by robbing of the poor.

Revolutions have risen and fallen,
Hopes have emerged and sunk,
But 'egalitarian' the earth that is
Has remained a home for plutocrats
Infinite since the days of yore.

The 'homicrats' are hypocrites--
Savants or savages, sinners or saints;
By might, or by the right of laws,
By grafts, by crafts, by crimes--
They have bled the poor over and over.

The sabotteur's hand on the tiller
The esoteric make runs free
Through plural dupes and dummies,
As the cogs of the 'neo-mobocracy'
Crush mercilessly the public and poor.

By the pseudo-designer's dishonest design,
With the lethality that's built in,
Do swarm the cronyists round the disguised fire,
Mauling fellows for the pyrrhic wins,
And have made the consequences fatally dire.

                                                      -- N P SAMAL

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