Once in a land stood a tree,
The object of this brief, sad tale.
Stout and sturdy it was.
Its majesty was sight to see
…and then its life was touched for the worse.
Now its roots are dried as it lies on a side,
Its crooked branches in accusation pointing
At those who made sure its spirit died,
Those whose fate and its were once one.
A time it was, eons ago it now seems to it.
Change had passed by when it was still
In its glory.
Its brothers had said to it:
“in this new change trust”.
They said it led to a new height.
And so it trusted, and so lost.
Now its fallen with no more strength to fight.
The once glistening branches
Are now black in death and decay;
Bedecked once with leaves
but now stark and bare.
Once upon a land there stood a tree
Whose crooked branches
in accusation still point.
The change sent rain
Which away the soil upon which it stood.
The change sent wind
Which pushed it down on its side.
It also sent heat
The heat gladly scorched its leaves.
Which hollowed out its trunk.
Finally, it sent fear
And fear killed its spirit.
Across a great divide, stood another tree
whose rounded trunk and plump leaves
be naught else but a parody of our tree.
Their fate was once one
But no more:
From the change it had stole soft cleansing rain
From which there was much freshness to gain.
It stole fair wind
Which made its leaves sing together it seemed
Also it stole soothing heat
Whose balmy touch made the leaves more fit.
It learnt much of hunger-
Always hungry for more it got fatter.
Finally it learnt to live with fear-
Building forts, guarding its comforts with care.
Where goes our tale?
The fallen tree, the cheated masses;
The great divide, the gap between classes;
The rounded tree, gluttonous elites;
The so-called change, elites rotating seats.
From this game which deserves no name,
They create an order serving them and no other
And within this order, they work by a dogma:
“government of our class,
for our class, by our class”,
and with a fervor the trodden mass
And so on this spacious and rich expanse
Stands our trampled tree
With broken and crooked branches
Pointing accusingly at that other tree
Whose round trunks are
Confined within forts,
And between them
And in stately repose is that chasm-
The great and damning divide.
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