A comedy where everyone's guaranteed to cry     
playing satire to a plot disguised as motivational     
in a crowd full of blind fools, singing to a bass     
guitar being strummed by bankers and politicians     
while real musicians take pittance, performing     
live to the uninterested passerby, who dreams of     
affording entrant to the carnival of privilege class     
    
Look!     
See the coffers of tax collected     
full.     
    
Abracadabra!     
Blink once     
then it's gone!     
    
Magic!     
Applause the audience.     
    
The dark corner housed the horror house of history     
highlighting Dracula staked inside a glass coffin     
while Imelda weeps for the loss of the thousand     
shoes, playing victim to the theft of ill-gotten wealth     
by a thieving representative of the survivors     
— so named the government.     
    
On the yellow lane, stood a mural of pain;     
all that remains from the bloodless transfusion     
that was supposed to heal the clogs in our hearts,     
but instead bore a tumor of an oblivious woman promoted     
for sainthood, when all she did was gift the nation with a son     
and a daughter — an autistic savant and a nymphomaniac     
who respectively raped our dreams, awake and in sleep     
    
Look!     
See that justice was about to be served     
hot.     
    
Abracadabra!     
Blink once     
then it went cold!     
    
Magic!     
Applause the audience.     
    
Hail to the King and Queen of contortionist     
ruled the stage successively — with both ended up     
locked in tiny boxes with AC — One wore the crown     
wearing nothing but stupidity, the other used     
a scepter of a magic economy, back-to-back     
they'd owned the country and handed it to agents     
who sold it to an empire of single eyelids.    
    
Look!     
See we have a country     
free.     
    
Abracadabra!     
Blink once     
then it's bought!     
    
Magic!     
Applause the audience.     
    
Then came the renegade, a vigilante, an illusionist     
who appears to be the savior of the damned     
— trigger-happy hero with a mouth that breathes foul,     
a man who serve justice to those he judged     
regardless of due process, he doesn't give a damn.     
    
And as tired as we are of passive eloquence     
aggressive single-mindedness becomes the new     
constitution of the desperate, anything is better     
than the jugglers juggling colored balls back and forth,     
up and down, left to right between them, paralyzing;     
we eat the extreme just, so we could all feel again.     
    
Look!     
See we have a spirit     
on fire.     
    
Abracadabra!     
Blink once     
then it became rage!     
    
Magic!     
Applause the audience.     
    
The curtain is closing, but rest assured     
that the show would go on, the fanfare is just starting     
the bet is still on, while the immortal general     
perched himself at the ticket booth, charging extra —     
offering an exclusive show-and-tell of the many tricks     
of the magicians, as he so witnessed and mastered     
himself.     
    
The joke is not funny     
and they laugh     
as we pay     
to watch them     
make us     
cry.   

Published 10th November 2017
Dup