Things I took for granted
Are things that I wanted
But never were scarce
Were always there
The water tap dripping
The uneaten meals
Food rotting in fridges
While half the wrold starving.
Should we bake a bigger cake
Or smaller slices make?
Are we ready, are we able
To live off crumbs from the table?
To live in convent silence
May seem to abandon sense
But nothing is more real
As the fight twixt good and evil
pmm ochodejulio
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