Revolution

You eat here contendedly,
While millions sleep starving,
Their faces emanciated,
Bones seemingly carving.

You cook up schemes,
And put up slogans,
What they actually are,
In all their essence, Trojans.

They are dormant, seeming weak,
But don’t believe their passions be dead,
Organised and led,
Their voice inspires dread.

Make no mistake,
Their voices are a force to reckon,
The day they come marching in,
The world’s gonna go wreckin’.