The meanest of murder, axe nor machete,
Overwhelming greed the sole bleeding knife;
Cohorts of crime, manic men of market,
The fair lady herself— much freedom rife!
To save her skin she this defence did fake:
Infidels oft breed their own tragic ends—
Making out markets seem a sad mistake,
Not knife, she used her own barest of stands.
No, not in fear darling, ye died of hate,
In greed of growth I guess, guilt-edged progress,
And yet, ere ye fall to thine destined fate,
I blame less Lady Greed, more her excess.
If bleed ye must ye shall bleed not in vain,
If too much greed be reined in tight restrain!
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This sonnet is in the form of allegorical satire on the goings on at global market meltdown. The sonnet takes its inspiration from Sir Walter Raleigh's ‘A secret murder hath been done of late'.
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Sonnets | 04.11.08 |