‘System is too corrupt,’ my friend bursts
i stay cool and offer my May musings
‘system is not corrupt, we are.
who make the system, you, I.
it’s minions’ rule, clay-foot, pig-heart,
thick-skin, vultures waiting for dead cow.
who suffer? the tillers, the traders, we all.
who profit? the quadruped.
friend, blame not the air or sky or stars
shoot the lily-livered gentlemen,
opportunistic torchbearers, hands
ready to strangle the wretched, hands
ready to touch the empowered feet,
ever set to pledge honour of our sisters
not for climbing mountains, to fish in murky pools.
let’s be shooters and shoot the traitors, the looters
of our land, the barterer of our honour.
let the ants be burnt in hot pans,
let the rats be killed in open air.
let’s unfurl wings against the stormy skies
let’s be freed from blackguards, the living-dead,’ so i say,
and end the day.