My Voice In Silence
There will be no recognition, no epiphanies
No intellectual solidarity, no saving grace
So without further adieu, let us speak free,
A clarion call to smash this ludicrous machine that churns out poverty and wipes away our identities
The apparatus of violent repression.
The rich partake in the reckless and unrestrained celebration of the exploitation of the less fortunate.
A carrot is dangled and the people are ready to be thrown in this machine.
It makes the rich wealthy and the toiling men into fuel.
More men are made and more fuel is burnt but not all are burnt, some die as they are discarded
For they don't burn as hot
and the machine is renowned for its brilliant plumes of smoke as only those who light up the best, are picked
So we must burn those men that rule us instead, for we have been told they are the best.
Yet another bothersome group we must denounce - the tide of grey faceless men
"In these times those happy and carefree,
I find are mere liars
Or They have gone senile, brainwashed, to be served to the ruling thugs
Like mutton, or poultry.
The people are faceless,
Limping through the cold,
the fascists parade them naked
The ones left with faces are made to erase them
As hope departs, i cease to care as i make a run but the senile mass grab me
At the cusp of possible escape
At end of the tunnel
Im dragged back to be eaten alive.
The people have succumbed to the commands of their parasitic masters.
these masters will go to work on them
Putting a smile on the faceless masses
The Grey lumps of flesh will now remain complicit
to the ceaseless evil that occurs in plain sight."
Copyright © Rajarshi Keshari | Year Posted 2018
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