
SYSTEM
‘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