The cracked "Mirror"

In a town where silence is cheaper than the truth,

people trade justice for chains and fancy bottles of youth.

You can see the hungry lining up, all skinny and barely there,

while the rich sip on their so-called virtues with tonic and gin.

They call it merit—this messed-up game,

where power hides behind masks and guilt just vanishes.

I once met a guy with holes in his shoes,

whose laugh was full of wisdom, whose eyes seemed to sing the blues.

He shared a story about bread and pride—

how both were taken, but only one of them cried.

Now he sleeps where the sidewalk curves,

while the government tries to figure out what “poverty” really means.

There’s this girl in gold with a ton of fans,

saying, 'We should give back,' with her perfect hands.

She shares a prayer for the homeless today

From a fancy penthouse miles away.

And every like she gets is like a little cheer—

showing care without ever being near.

The courts look pristine, but the jails are packed full

Of those who swiped bread—not banks or wool.

The law’s blind when it wants to be—

she peeks for pearls but ignores the cash.

They dish out justice in tiny portions,

punishing dreams for showing up too soon.

The TV shouts about freedom and peace,

while drones sing lullabies over in the East.

A kid confuses stars for bombs,

learning that silence can soothe and calm.

But here, we scroll through bloodshed and screams,

then swipe away to memes and dreams.

Oh, this nation of glass, built on rusty lies,

where hope feels like a crime and truth often fades away.

Yet still, some write, some march, some sing—

trying to crack open the system’s ring.

So I grab this pen and dare to scribble

A verse of fire to tear down the wall.