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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

The convoy leaders

“Rushing though streets for executive duty,”
their cars flee from local traffic with “cause.”
They are supposed to convoke people,
ayeh, from the streets they draw them apart,
rushing through urgently to play “their part.”
They lack patience, an essential key in their cast,
they are leaders incomparable to none yet we are one.

They raise their stature yet their society is stagnant,
they break their own laws yet bind them to govern us,
they speed through streets going above limit,
causing alarm with sirens yet the city is close to a stroke.
Going about town in air conditioned state provided cars;
it's no wonder our transport faculties propagate enmity,
how can they help if they don't know the state of our means?
In their convoys what message do they convey?
Could there be an urgency they need to attend to?
Yet midway their caucus some are half way present,
as us who perform the liturgy of giving way,
meek and in fear of being put away silently scribble-
these little notes in hope for better days.
Ayeh, can this literal jargon flame like a dragon?
Will it ever cause a fire or just be a bygone?

Some say let bygones be bygones ,
so maybe someday our troubles will go away.
we’ll have leaders that understand our ways;
the ways of “people,”  whose statistical data-
collected by slaves of their chatter tells them,
that a meal a day isn’t a must but a probability,
and that jobs for their lot are filled like tow lots,
and that the average man lives below poverty line,
below which the pauper lies glaring at greed
watching it drive by in empty convoy cars.

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