Let me kill them all, the rich and the poor, O God,
let me kill them all, the rich for treating the poor
as filthy slaves and the poor for having such
blind awe for the rich ones as if they were lords!
It is good that after all like Hamlet,
I too suffer from procrastination,
for otherwise there would have been at least
blood of ten thousand lives on my hand by now.
Everyday the list keeps growing long
with names both great and small to be killed,
everyday my urge keeps growing strong
to hurt them mortally and watch them bleeding dry.
They are both the rulers and those being ruled,
the subjects for their misplaced tolerance
and the kings for their unbridled avarice,
while mothers are being raped and fathers, chopped to death,
while prices soared against a dwindling currency
and distance kept rising between the rich and poor.
So, as it seems, here the sun has set forever
and here the wind of change will never come,
unless we can start anew through another war
or a disaster breaks us all apart
yet, these I can neither start nor afford.
It is good that unlike Hamlet, I cannot yield a sword!