You are under attack, poor nations!
The wars have to be won cunningly,
The wars of hearts and the nations,
The war against the evil and the virus load,
The researchers are stationed in poor neighborhood,
Where people have no voice, guts and vision,
The hunger suppresses their spirit in delusion,
The research, having done on the soil of,
Africa, India and other dysfunctional land,
Using the medicines and placebo,
To the potentially risk groups of innocents,
How many thousands got infected and left to suffer,
To find the drugs to eliminate the virus from the coffers,
The poor colored brothers and sisters are the white rats,
Have their hands full of gifts, run down clothes,
To keep them in the altars to say good bye in a few years,
The ambitious entrepreneurs in every researcher,
Should do the research in their own backyard,
Having enough hosts who nurture the virus and bacteria,
Let them plough their own land to harvest the drug potatoes,
Don’t go to the poor nations who have nothing to support,
Once the drug is invented, they will be left on their own.
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