Sunday, 18 June 2017

What? Another disaster?


Another disaster?
Not another one?
I can't stand this!

What am I allowed to feel?
When all suffering is televised,
and sanitised, and thus inoculated,
we are anaesthetised 1, 2, 3 ...
What am I told to feel?

What is permitted?
That will not denigrate your
religion, or class, or race, or gender,
or colour, or orientation or ...
Stop! Stop!
Permit me please.

But what can I say?
That has not been said,
and around and around my head
it hammers the tears to steam
at my sadness misaligned.
What do you say?

What politics, in contrast,
can I believe to behave and
in all truth say it was me,
I did it, or didn't do it.
For, if it was me, I would.
Simple in contrast.

So where can I find myself?
Where in all the truth of it all?
So that we can truly fix "it"
for us, for once and for all.
Where? Shout it. Where!!?

What is real wealth?
That does not dislocate
the rich from the poor,
in evaluation, in elevation,
or in depression, bipolar
in the richness of cheapness.
Is that wealth?

Dear politician answer this:
do you represent me?
Or must I conform to
your representation of me?
Whose dialectic dictates?
What are we at all, if far apart?
Answer me that!

Are we dead sure it is true?
That there is truth?
That the pain is real?
Really taken away
in the deaths revealed
as we relieve ourselves
believing the die is cast.

When I turn inward
and still see outward,
who can I turn to
to take away the pain,
or put it back again?
You? All of you?
Or just me?
Or me and you?

Is it too late to escape
a fate effete?
Has every shade of empathy
been tuned to white noise?
Oh, boys mun,
such wretchedness is fetid.

Are we lost? Have we lost?
Do you see what I mean?
What dies, what lives,
what emotions in the end
scream at the dark
drowning in mouthfuls

"Oh, I don't know" you say.

I see; so you don't know!
What a crying shame
that no one is to blame,
that no one did it.
I didn't ... did I?
Did you?
Come on.
Own up.

I can't stand this hypocrisy!

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