The Treacherous Design
The Treacherous Design
(A series of "The Armor Crabs In A Bucket poems")
The bucket is a vast but crowded region,
Neglected, finance- starved dilapidating infrastructure
Built by a broken system's treachery hands.
The walls are high, the dot space is tight,
With desperate and busy feet on shifting sands.
No malice but brooding breeds within the dark,
No calculated, but deceptive spiteful plot;
Just human hands that clamp, claw and climb,
Trapped in a suffocating, deprived and pillaged centre pot.
We grab the shoulder of the next, just above,
A frantic leap to catch the life's light,
And drag the rising brother down
Blind, breathless panic in the night.
Spotless, out of the crumbles, a giant arose
The exit clears if we stand still,
But hunger makes the fingers bold.
We crush the ladder as we climb,
And lose the freedom we were sold.
The prison is the overcrowded packed design,
Where starving bodies push and shove.
We blame the envy of the crowd,
But choke for lack of breathing room.
A rogue state mind-blowing hypocrisy creation
In order to ingratiate in this regional clique,
Central dot itself with its political base,
Has gone elites- self-enriching rogue.
Like breeding inequities in a rogue state
It was stopped. It was prevented
Must not rear it's ugly head or be prevented
Grassroot, ground- up devoid of elitist state.
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