The year that came the leaders deserved,
The breaking of the balance kept,
Gone are the serving of bons mots.
The rushing winds mounted again,
Mining the vision of the oppressed.
Unravished bridge from the past
Exploded with the meaning it brings.
The stature of meetings flowered,
Inverted with a mad stare at nothing,
The toothless mouth open on her way,
Disproportion that sets aside the equity
Born of torture and ragged whims.
Spin, spin, spin the world and its sins,
A dice with more than what begins.
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