Enough to Heal, Not Enough to Care

They dine upon marble platters, their feet draped in velvet thread,

While we dwell in the slums, substituting bread with insects instead.

They laugh over champagne, heels clacking on polished stone,

While the many live hollow, aching, and alone.

The rich grow fat on borrowed breath,

Unbothered by the stench of death.

The cook may eat—if there’s a bite to spare;

The maids tread halls by candle’s glare.

The dukes, adorned in silks, parade right past,

Deeming who among us deserves the very last.

So let them feast on diamonds and gold,

Too distant to notice the hunger, the cold.

But a reckoning waits, with calloused hands—

And hunger never makes soft demands.