Not a raven — but man in his true form,
With claws forged from hatred and scorn,
Blanketing the world with his own war.

I saw it in squares, in screens, on hills,
Preaching peace with counterfeit thrills,
Feeding the beast with blood-stained deals,
While selling weapons like healing pills.

“Who are you?”, I cried, drained of hope.
And the monster laughed, with a leader’s trope:
“I am your mirror, your faith, your scope!”

I came not from shadows — but from your ease,
From comfort that ignored the deceased,
I am your masterpiece: ignorance that appease.”

©️Beatriz Esmer