Posted by Public Information Project Management on
At close of flute festival
Fellow flutists in fellowship
Followed me
To forked road home
Pleading and praying me
To quit playing
Flute tunes,
Tonic to bodies
And minds
At arenas
Where masses congregate
To amass comfort.
They put tag of price
On my inestimable endervour,
They place me
Like merchandise
Before Princes and Princesses,
Idle lot!
With bags of currencies,
Stolen stash
To buy bundles of comfort.
Hear corrupted cantatas,
Bastardized symphonies
Of mercenary flutists.
Hear raucous claps
From itchy palms
Of bitchy bums,
We are thrown into the cesspit.
Obnoxious tunes
From flashy flutes
Nudge khaki clad
Actors to obnoxious action,
Anarchy is here,
The canary’s beak padlocked
And stroll of the dove
Curtailed.
Yet,
We herald anomaly.
We herald also
Shadow of normalcy
And jostle
To join aberrations.
As we dwell
In this cesspool
Searching for succour,
Recurrent rulers resurface
In alternate apparels
Of brocade and khaki.
Like incubus
They press us deeper,
While fellow flutists
Fed fat with lucre
Play tunes of praise.
We sink deeper
Into this pit,
Seemingly bottomless,
Intermittently gulping the stench.
Measures!
Austerity measures,
De-regulations.
We are forced
To tighten our waistbands
So royalty
Will continue in profligacy.
The tunes,
Insincerity
Continue to ooze
From their fat flutes.
We hold tight now
To tiny threads of hope.