The baton didn’t know,
Neither the lenses
What brewed inside
Of those careless men.
Who didn’t want to beg
For a morsel to feed
The mouths that refused to
Banish the arch nemesis.
Which prevails itself as hunger.
Novel or should it be called noble?
‘New’ as in the term of those who know.
To them, it’s royal.
Not for the poor, filthy ones.
Hope is turned to the God-sent ones.
As scavenging is not an option.
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