Gray Metropolis
Fists in the air, flesh born out of concrete dusts,
smoke-stricken caused by corporate’ glory;
we dwelled alongside rusted steel engines, churning,
trembling as grease railroaded on our skins;
we swamped beside bleak lakes, pedestrians
and under bridges, after we chose to escape
the uniformed men’s chaos ;
yet we were crippled still at our own urban homes,
metal behemoths twisted our tables, chairs
and beds to the elite’s content while we slept
with mud on our scarred chests; while we dined
like canines beside trash bins;
we were hushed at gunpoint,
each ammunition fed by the few
whose bellies never go empty, by the few
whose outlay roots from bloody acres;
they kept owning the world, expanding landscapes
as if galaxies could fit inside their pockets
and their bones needed preserving
like pyramids of modern pharaohs;
they regarded us threats to investors’ interests,
stench to tourists’ visits; reasons of an ugly nation;
yet they treat us like allies before we hold our ballots
and engrave each of their family names
in an almost automatic sequence.
Fists in the air, flesh born out of concrete dusts,
smoke-stricken caused by corporate’ glory;
our chants shall gash through the capital
until the towering might turns
because our lives have been impoverished
not by their claims of laziness,
of ignorance, nor of idiocy
but by their ambitions
of being deities of this gray metropolis.
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