A poem on politics, democracy, and how potholes are a surprisingly strong indicator of corruption in a country.
The resurgent clouds pour down,
Opening up potholes
Of corruption
And disdain
And we ignore and we let go
Showing patience in the wrong places
As a democracy,
We would rather drown in the cascade of noises,
Shouting and raging
And opening up debates
That are sparked by devious minds somewhere
Propagated forward in all sorts of ways.
And if you are looking
To merely survive
In this game
Of fire and ice
Remember that then you have no reason to complain.
You gave up the right to make a change,
The day you cast your vote,
That was the day someone else could make a decision in your place.
The clouds have always poured down,
The potholes have always opened up,
And meanwhile,
Yes, we have made some progress -
But why do you not question
The ability of your politicians
If they cannot fix
The road that you take to work,
How will they fix your city, your country?
How will they fix what they broke over and over again,
To gain from your loss,
And your ignorance of their ways?
Where is the country I read about,
The people who fought for its freedom
Its breath -
Where are the fighters,
The wheels of a new generation
And its unimaginable progress?
Are they caught up
In a web of outdated education
Mindlessly solving solved problems
While life constantly changes around them?
Do we have to have war and subjugation,
To express our anger and our dissent?
Are we only tolerant -
Because we couldn't care less?
If we all stay silent,
Aren't we the ones to blame?