Poem

they say he knows what’s best for all,

he built the rules, he owns the hall.

he smiled and nods, proclaims he cares,

yet every scar still holds his heirs.

he speaks of merit, hard work pays,

but never walked in others ways.

his wisdom, aged and self-declared,

is mostly luck he never shared.

he mocks the change, the tone, the fight,

“the youth these days, they've lost their sight”.

and still he claims, with gentle grace,

the world's still fine, from his own place.

but here's the twist, the past, the pain,

when power stays, it breeds disdain.

prejudices aren’t born by chance,

they grow where no one moves, or grants.

laugh if you must, it helps to see,

the joke’s not old, it's history.

and truth remains, behind the plan:

the world still bends ‘round old white man.