By Rajan George
When thieves run the state,
They mollify the public with lies—
Carefully spun to mask their crimes,
Deceiving the gullible and the weak.
They scream at the top of their lungs,
Shouting down those they hate—
Those they fear might lift the veil
And dare expose their shame.
They scorn the noblest souls of all,
Who serve with quiet care,
Yet still they try to smoke them out—
Relentless, cold, and bare.
They rail against false claims aloud,
Then chant them over and o’er,
Until their prey, exhausted, flees
Just to escape the pain.
Not all fighters flee in fear;
Some firmly stand their ground and fight,
Till they’ve laid bare the crooked schemes
And stripped the thieves of might.
The kleptos do not yield with ease,
But wield their power to crush
Those they know would thwart their aims—
Unconcerned with the cost or the hush.
Sometimes, the fruit of labor returns
Too fast to cry or flee;
Your masters vanish before you know,
No one cares when you’re crushed to dust!
May 2, 2025
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