Egonomist

We invented counting to keep everyone fed, then turned the balance sheet into a battlefield. We first notched a bone to remember the wheat, A quiet agreement that neighbors might eat. A tally of bread, of the wool and the grain— A language of mercy against winter’s pain. Then the ledger grew teeth, and the numbers grew proud. The quiet exchange became frantic and loud, It was no longer “enough for the winter ahead,” It was “mine is the throne, and yours is the dread.” Now borders are charted and rivers run red, For phantom percentages counted in dead. We bleed in the dirt over digital air, While the math is distorted to prove it is fair. It was never the scarcity, water, or land— Just vanity steering the clerk’s steady hand. When the home that we share is devoured by pride, The ledger survives, but the humans inside Have traded the grace of an honest account For an altar of ego where bodies are mount. Economics began as oikonomia—the simple, humble stewardship of a shared home. When ego took the pen, sharing became scoring, and counting became conquest. The math never shed a drop of blood; it is only the pride behind the balance sheet that demands a sacrifice.