Regarding a love poem written 3,500 years ago
I have many motives for internal and external sadness, as any other person; but that does not prevent me from living hopeful and consoled. Poetry is of great consolation. I remember a Chinese, anonymous, poem written 3,500 years ago: a shepherd looks after his herd, with an intense cold, far from his wife who is at home and imagines her by the fire sewing; the last verse says: He listens to the noise of her scissors in the deep night.
The fact that this poem was written such a long time ago and it still moves us, means that there is a human fabric impossible to break, a capacity for beauty impossible to annihilate. Afterwards, each one with his pains fends for himself.
Regarding banquets for a few and many without bread to live
A few feast lavishly and many do not have bread to live. Man becomes greedy and voracious. It seems that having, accumulating things, is for many the meaning of their lives.
Regarding the power to buy someone else
Equality does not mean that we all have the same wealth, but rather that nobody becomes so rich as to being able to buy another one or that no one becomes so poor that he is forced to sell himself.