The streets don’t sleep, the people
fight,
Not for justice—just for their right.
No trust in laws, no faith in guards,
Only fists and broken shards.
The rich feast high, the poor dig deep,
Dreams are sold, and hope is cheap.
The land they love is signed away,
By hands they swore would keep them safe.
No sirens call when cries are heard,
No badges shine, no promised word.
The land once green, the rivers wide,
Now choked by greed, the people cry.
Gold and soil, once free to till,
Stolen by those who eat their fill.
Promises fall like dying leaves,
Signed in ink that no one reads.
The cops don’t come, the law’s not fair,
Only power speaks, but does not care.
From villages lost to towered steel,
The farmers weep, the hungry kneel.
Their voices drowned, their pleas ignored,
By men who sit and count their hoard.
So they rise with fire in their eyes,
For only they can break these ties.
This poem, reasamble my country, Indonesia Condition, police and gov's are corrupted, they have taken the right of poor people. People dying in the street, fighting to get their right.
