Within the Capitalist World

The pleasures of the rich,
Is bought by the tears of the poor.
The wealth of the burgeoius,
Is acquired from the labour of the proletariat.

It is a relationship,
An assymetrical relationship; one of hierarchical order.
It is a world of social stratification,
One is on top, the other beneath.
A world of complete absense of equillibrum.
The weak/poor are subdued,
the strong/rich, the subdurers.
Everything depends on ones social strata.

All depends on who gets what.
Who owns what; who controls what and when.

It is a game of ownership,
Those who possess valuables make all decision.
Outstanding comportment does not count;
Money in its heterogenous manifestation matters, rules and chooses.
The rule of the game; join the winning team or get crushed.

The one with perspiration all over lives hand to mouth.
He toiled day and night like ants,
But goes to bed stomach lacuna.
Except bones of flesh covering a frustrated soul and a bitter mind,
Nothing else for his dedicated labour.
Equally he is dispensable.

The Capitalist cares less,
But perpetuates in amassing more and more,
With little or no exhaustion.
He screams in joyous attainment.
He hightens the goodness of his luxury,
And contemplates on the amplitude of his abundance.