Thursday, March 5, 2015

Rant: the good days

We talk about development and about good days
and then there are sources
Bad, evil
who pull us back, back into the orthodox times
and thoughts so backward
yet they dare to preach it to the public
Stupidity is shot and sold in open markets
With hoardings showing fancy faces
and advertising plastic promises
And we talk about development
while disrespecting our own roots,
making judgments based on half-baked theories
coming straight from the corrupt minds
of Bad, evil
sinister ministers playing strip poker with us;
a game which we always lose
and get lost in the madhouse maze
of unsolvable paradoxes with bilateral answers
of which to believe, we are not sure enough
and while we think and send some of our brainy representatives
to put forward our say
on public debates where curtains fall
before a conclusive climax
which are held on expensive podiums
owned and run by
the Bad, evil
criminal minded shenanigans who broadcast filth in broad daylight
and have the audacity to hire defence lawyers
to justify their intended crime
and then some black coats are found,
just ‘black coats’ because there’s no human in there,
waving their participation into the missions
of hiding dark deeds in darker coats
making uncountable victims’ resilient tears collect
In the dusty, old and unread files
on a shelf of a slacker’s office
and censoring every quiet shriek of openness
and banning every bit of thoughtful art
which died in a want to yell the bitter truth
to an audience, oblivious of logic
and we talk about development
where people still need to be fed by a spoon
about the basic facts of being normal
providing a vulnerable, dirty habitat where
Rises the Bad, evil
which comes back again and again in different avatars
of demagogues, lecturing hate
of lawyers, advocating lies
of godmen (fraudmen), preaching terror
hurdling us, on our path towards the good days
pulling us back, back into the orthodox times
from where, we the junta
have been trying to free ourselves
by voting for the lesser corrupt
and they win, the prodigal hooligans
who vandalise every street with their dominion,
and spray cans
with which they paint every wall in dark bold letters:
giving out the idea of dystopia
and we fall for it
and we walk along with it
keeping an eye on the clock, waiting
with a few, quiet outcries
for the good days.


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