Morality and ethics keep us sane and stable. But the nature of human intellect is such that it acts negatively, more than in the positive. The outcome, a grave sin. Seven Social Sins exist, which are the consequence of vices like greed, lust, and vain. These sins attack the thread of ethics and break it often. A contemplative poem on the first such sin- Wealth Without Work.
The rich try to flash and flaunt,
With the sole intent to harrow and haunt,
The masses and have nots, to keep cursing their fate,
When a minuscule gathers plenty, at an unprecedented rate.
The majority consistently toil and fail,
While the privileged sit idle and sail,
Through the currents of life’s streams,
Washing away mercilessly people’s most cherished dreams.
Where the haves claim their voice as music and harmony,
And demean the have nots as creating an untuned cacophony.
There lies a dark truth untold,
In that glittering tooth of gold,
There lies a sin concealed,
In that diamond-studded shield,
There lies a voice of manipulation,
In that philanthropic exaggeration,
Servitude to the rich, of the masses,
Is forced gratitude on those classes,
Claiming the superiority of responsibility,
In being the self-proclaimed harbinger of protecting false vulnerability.
A structure formed-
The dusty undertones of vain and greed,
Is covered with coats of glossy shades,
Showing genuine concern for others’ need,
With hollow selfless serenades,
And the murky foundation of wilful indolence,
Which can not bear the load of perseverance and patience,
Develop fault lines and crevices,
From which oozes out the inner vices,
Which are filled with the sticky gel of unscrupulous actions,
In the name of hyped market jargons and complicated business speculations,
And covering the chipped walls with rational stance and lies,
Severing all connections with natural ties,
Garnering the vice of greed on this shaky structure,
On the pretext of providing a livelihood that is bound to rupture,
With the burden of accelerating rents and taxes,
And the crunching income and incentive relaxes.
A time comes when the cracks become too large,
To fix it with a recklessness, a hasty barge,
And the fallen structure is again rebuilt,
By the have nots digging the land and filling the silt,
Toiling again in sheer servitude,
To fill the chests of the greedy attitude,
Over brimming again with flashiness and flaunt,
To relive the story of harrow and haunt,
A pricking gift for the masses,
From the privileged classes.
SIN: WEALTH: VICE