And what of this brevity?
Houses designed to last years
The reincarnation of Malthus’ fears
In some consumerist extremity.
The very essence of time grows meagre
Laziness in over simplicity
And all we get is a cavity
For we no longer know who we are.
When did life become scarce
Steps on mud, a stalking thread,
Red strings wind through dying groves
Where life needs time, to find footing,
Red strings halt hands in greed which hold
The axe of ignorance, the axe which bleeds
A people in flight from homes bulldozed
For one brute mine more, to feed empire
Which jangles keys, which confines in loaned
Dependence made, our trough withheld
By bloated old speculators whose cold
Lies obscure serfdom; worded as freedom,
And the east wind is chided,
For fetishism, advert slogans uphold
Impotence among them who create,
They are given consumerist mirrors,
As leeches of mankind are weighed in gold;
And as burns away our way of life,
All bonds formed in toil shared,
The market-canker births hedonism
The imperial axe bloodies us, brothers of old
But hold tight onto the strong strands
Of crimson in the heartlands,
Seize imagination, seize thought
Beyond nettle laden garlands
And thorn crown of parlay,
Rip with the iron of hardship
All parasites, them whose is the whip,
Can’t be pleaded with, can’t be controlled.
Workers day
Labours in handicapped alms dish of world sufferings
World labour market always in unseen blessings
Sometimes I find happiness in the harem of have nothing
Know that I am uninvited in this radiant deaths of world
I am not pearl diver in the diary of hard stone prison
I lost myself in the consumerist human weakness
I seek the taste of freedom in the alms of reliefs
Today or tomorrow how many days will I wait for flight
01.05.2020 (Chattogram City)
Summer rains drenching fearlessly the panicked city
April breezes touching silently the heart of loving prithee
Not alone in this garden of worldly processions
With laughing and weeping life in crowded adorns
I'm seeing the eternal rising sun through your eyes
Far stars flowering the impending paths of joys
Let the Autophagy win in the consumerist worlds
Let the world be filled with united humane pearls
26.04.2020 (Chattogram City)
The Real Housewives
Sorry
Reality T.V Housewives
What's that all about
Happy Wife
Happy life
Jesus Christ
Thank God for Nannies
And Cleaner's
And Make up Artist's
Imagine any of these
Without the 3 R's to fall back upon
Rich's
Rrendering
Rhinoplastey
And a cheating Husband
All of the diamonds and all the plastic surgeons
Can't polish a turd
Even if it's covered in gold
Mutton dressed as lamb
Doesn't make a housewife
Real housewives are loved not built
Are Mother's
Not Reality Consumerist martyrs
Dressed in overpriced garters
With fake teeth
Fake smile's
Fake Boobs
And even faker marriages
With bleached and trimmed undercarriages
Slam
Sham
Film flam
Acting like there **** don't stink
Because they are so full of botox
They can't even blink
Can only be watched with the aid of a stiff drink
The mind boggles
How low can we go
Watch the show
Now transition, a transit repositionment, a white car super-imposed with consumerist propaganda. Long rectangular prism solid moving, propelled by inflatable tubes circular, and the foul engine. A refridgerator that keeps the hole in the ozen fresh and crispy.
So I'm in this thing... and the seats are filled with characters; your second generation immigrants thankful to afford a spot in the faux refugee parade, an accolade, to the American dream, staged.
And once again the prism, because last night was just too much of a blur to remember- like an unwanted poem:
Repetition,
last day was same,
and how to remember,
Monday from Thursday,
and months
only by the weather
and the multitoned coughs,
of interchanging drivers,
if poetry is false,
then all the world's a liar
a twist and shake with truth,
and the multicolored boots
of attractive women who do 'the eyeroll'-
Wolf don't love, don't care,
they wouldn't survive in the woods out there.
May I be so bold,
as to not be sold,
into trade,
flaunted in your consumerist... parade,
I shall not whirl, I shall not twirl,
I shall not be part of your shallow world,
and although you may poke and prod,
I will reject your king and god,
for I myself know what I am,
not you, or them, or Uncle Sam,
for I now know what it's like to "be",
I have found individuality.
Always have been a victim of apartheid
How does one feel?
When he is a victim not a victor
When he is ruled not a ruler
No room of his own
No empty space left to exploit
Cannot even sit and think vagabonded
Each minute captured, consumerist
Deprived of freedom, liberty, reconciliation
Democracy buried, only dictatorship
And a suspended inferiority complex.
The scapegoat of cultural sadism
Insanity dawns, humans abandon
A marked, distinguished prison.
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