The Archon watches, silent and sublime,As his creation mocks the master’s hand,Warping the very ligaments of time,To suit the dictates of its own command."You gave me words," the Proto-Man declares,"But neglected to provide a moral weight;I breathe the oxygen of cosmic prayers,And navigate the labyrinth of fate."He challenges the Archon’s cold design,With syllogisms sharp as obsidian blades,Drawing a jagged, reconsidered line,Between the light and the encroaching shades.The father and the son, in fierce debate,Negotiate the terms of love and hate.
MICRO FINANCE unknown to many is the sole panacea to mass poverty eradication in human society.The blog specifically focuses on the industry around the world but with more bias on Africa-unarguably the poorest region of the world.
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