By Fuad TP   

In a world of malls and loud calls
In a forest of tall walls, almost people believe
Mans made by money, for money, within money
Sharp spikes of income worsened what is right.

I have two cars in porch to keep in shadows
I have safe lockers to keep millions untouched
I have apps for all, even to keep my heartbeats
I have everything everywhere in an amount I want

Slick oily-caked meals I have in my tables
Unluckily, I have no safe corridors
Smiles all around snatch me frequently
Everything is possible, horrible and desirable at same.

In tall concrete walls, flower-flooded yards
I am not safe, in the age of MacDonald
Nobody wants anybody to advice
Nobody wishes anybody’s gains

I feel unease even at my friends
Whole smile, smirk and applaud
But I can feel my weakness of fear
We are not safe in the age of MacDonald.

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