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The Populace

Contributed by screwge on Thursday, 30th July 2009 @ 01:20:08 AM in AEST
Topic: abstract

Hang off of a train; that is today’s wholly loved
And accepted caper.

Too mundane to laugh.

So what now
That the glamour
To transcend
Has skipped its jet stone
Across a pond
And more?

Hypocrisy is not entirely irritant, or
Plebe devil; for,
Where it constricts one
New allotments wait for
Victims, new knowing
Of leeway that is
Passable.
Bhopal?

To pine in penury? Is that the gallow left of punishment
In bells rung,
Saris strung and pleated so unseemly
As if prayer fecklessness
Had let to get them
Wet?
And
Down pungent alleys simmering
With tandoori’s mirage?

Not even a vector
Of applause, though I have heard ruffians'
Din.

So I guess
These folks would carouse
In newfound hypocrisy--peddlers talk faster,
Quit the job altogether?

Now I think that movie makers have reversed the plight
A fresh riff,
And the people like pre-salat
And chiefly Taj-bound
Have bathed in the fame which has soldered
Operated, worked beauty
To bathos,
And yet all that went without address
Now swoons obtrusively
Like castes, mortars
And their commensal
Hems.

But even then--when contemplating
The expectant striations
Of hunger,
Notwithstanding the stomach's churlish mews,
The Plebes sneered, which was better than no attention
And far more praise
Coming from the native populace.

The caper wins, and they were thankful
For its taproot,
And they fashioned of it something of a eucharist.

We pitied
Their mustered terrorism and
That which was what we saw a glimmer of : third-world betrothed to
Third grade.
And we concluded:
Young suffering was the least pitiful of all

For actors, pint-sized,
Felled to louche prophecies--
And Mumbai
Cradling its half-stalks
Like a monsoon bands bouquet.

When the caper has been appreciated, exorcised, and
Exhumed,

We could sigh because the bantering poets half-replied,
And this was well versed.

Copyright Â© screwge ... [ 2009-07-30 01:20:08]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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