Money Poem by Suresh Kumar EK

Money
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Money, money, money
Money, money, money.

Everyone, everywhere,
Always goes after,
It is a dog running.
From the church bells,
To the kitchen utensils,
It is repeating.

'Make money anyway.'
This is the new proverb,
This is innovation.

Values ​​are just,
Treadmills only,
To wipe the feet,
Filled with mud,
Again and again,
Make a lump of clay.


Coin reigns as a weapon,
As the most dangerous.
In the ways of blood,
It becomes great.
Human life,
It is perplexing.

Under the guise of money,
Addiction and power,
And lust, hate and hope
Hatred, despair, and cruelty,
Is ripening in black fields,

New harvest songs are rising,
"Make money, make money
Don't look at how it is made '