In the times of forced confinement,
There's only one requirement,
Those four walls, or more,
Protect your from what's beyond the door;

So, all you need do,
Is not be daily blue,
But turn your heart,
And give it a fresh start.

Let the people declare the end of times,
But haven't you had enough?
When will you turn to face the oppressor?
Even with your backs against the wall;

Reality crept upon the wicked,
The ones that gloried in foolishness,
They hid the commonwealth for themselves,
Yet see how useless their hoard has become;

As the crown of thorns rips through them,
Man, woman, old and young,
They struggle, now, like their oppressed many,
In fear of dying, the cowardly false gods;

But the people are silent,
Cowed by years of servitude,
Everyone afraid of something,
Keyboard warriors in solitude;

This chance to press reset,
Take back your stolen destiny,
You see their weakened resolved,
Now, is the time, to rise as one!

An untimely occasion presents,
Here given an unprecedented opportunity,
To reshape the entire community,
To stop everything, and begin afresh.

Under the hardship of poverty,
And persistent lack of anything comfortable,
The people have turned a brutal lot,
Not minding whether their leaders perish;

But why blame them?
All they have known is impoverishment,
From cradle to grave is a struggle,
With no affection from the top;

The people attend rotten hospitals,
Learn, if at all, in crumbling schools,
Move around in rusty public transport,
And are buried in overgrown graveyards;

And when the forces bless their tormentors-in-chief,
With ailments of Eastern origins,
And cannot go to Western lands for cure,
The people are glad, and dance to karma's melodious rhythms.

Drawing a straight line,
From the affluent,
To those struggling to pay rent,
All stuck in, wine or no wine;

The neglected places,
Have become cherished spaces,
Will now be adorned with rich laces,
For our guests with chubby faces.

Growing up was lonesome,
Didn't believe I was awesome,
In fear of everything,
Self esteem was nothing.

Oh, what time to be alive!
To see, to see! The wicked stumble!
The untouchables believed they'd survive,
In the secret place of their bubble;

Now the story is about them,
Premium the access to the world,
Going thither or whither the globe's stem,
Even where they're not called;

While the poor are behind curtains,
Unsure, restless, hoping against uncertainty,
In the darkness, praying against unseen restraints,
Bound by a shared impoverished humanity;

The authorities of heaven,
Have laid the tables even,
Gifted our oppressors a mighty burden,
Occupied from dawn and beyond eleven.