💰CAPITALISM a direct KICK where it hurts, a SCREAM against INJUSTICE, POWER and OPPRESSION

This poem is a merciless portrait of the reality we live in. In the midst of a recurring and catastrophic winter, the cold not only chills our bones, but also reflects the indifference of a system that has abandoned us. While the cities remain deserted and the voices of the trains and children in the parks fade away, economists and bankers cross the streets without getting wet, oblivious to the misery that suffocates those left on the sidelines.
This poem is an open denunciation of the incoherence of a savage capitalism that preaches its selfishness with every decision, without caring about the rain that soaks the most vulnerable. While they continue to advance, safe and comfortable, we, the forgotten, are the ones who resist under the storm. The rain soaks us, but it also strengthens us; it is the symbol of an eternal struggle, of a desire for reconquest that does not fade, even if they want it to.
There is no room here for easy hope or superficial consolation. Each verse is a stab at the hypocrisy of those who ignore the pain of others while preaching with their actions the supposed inevitability of a broken system. How long will we allow them to cross the streets without getting wet? This is a poem for those who continue walking in the rain, looking for a way out, dreaming of the day when the storm becomes our weapon, and the reconquest of our dignity, our only mission.
Immerse yourself in this raw reflection and join me in this tireless search for social justice, for a world in which there are no more powerful people crossing the streets safely while the rest of us are exposed to the rain of oblivion.
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CAPITALISM
In the open air of this recurring and catastrophic winter,
the cold wears its stoic rank
on the deserted cities,
it is worrying not to hear the murmur
of the dialogue of the trains
and the late buses,
of the parks and the children's games.
It's raining and it seems that it's not enough
to cover the avenues again
and to be able to take shelter in any bar
where we can mingle with the economists,
the bankers and the hope-stealers,
they know how to cross the streets without
barely getting their pants wet,
there are many of them and they bore us,
they care little that it's raining
and that the world is crowded on the margins
of incoherence and the most vile misery,
they don't understand poetry
nor do they need to
but they preach it every day
sentencing their selfishness
on our capitalist strategy:
being able to cross the streets without getting wet,
anonymous, moving forward, with the only hope
of making the rain and the desire for reconquest eternal.
All rights reserved © ℗ 2024
Video created with #Canva
Music and voice created by #Suno
Lyrics copyrighted © ℗ 2024
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