I hang suspended in the hallways of nobody intellectuals,
the strangers of this generation that slay the blood from their hands
and the engraving from the metal plate; writing on a wall.
I sit with my back turned against the cloth of secrecy,
obscuring the vision of the youth standing in front of me
and I understand their anguish in dissociated lives.

This side of popular culture stands the beat of a drum,
unlike that seen in the streets of walking decay,
hammering with uneven pattern;
a design filled of rhythmic, randomised echoes
from the stillborn child, wrought to fulfil empathy of morality.
These legions of cerebral individuals lead the charge
to cleanse themselves of the gorging from the eras preceding them,
wash away the festering moulds of gluttony corporate insatiability,
the peak thus far in the globalisation quest of the civilised society
to become a truly ethnocentric superior system.

But they separate from conventions of thought,
meander off the path in search of new exploration,
gather the armies of the new age
to kill what is left behind in the ravaging of an old corruption.
The question of the quest my friends is this,
have we yet learnt from ancient mistakes,
or are we still to flog the channel we follow blinded
in the certainty of our supremacy of status on earth?

Take the hands of the corpse beside you my dear,
show how much you cared for the revolution
of an avant-garde empire, converted to conservative flaws.
And as you moan your disbelief regarding the death of an echo
turn not to me but to the society blemished by the doings of age and time,
whisper your fears to beloved institutions and understand
that they too have evolved with time into a commercialised company,
and never have had your concerns held within the heart of a conviction in faith.

Where will you turn when the glass skies above you
crack into splinters, tumbling from the airy recesses overhead,
where will you look when the radium poisons your mind
and takes the lives of your fore bearers and future fruits?
The faction to which you belong has elasticity,
so stretch it to an absolute limit and see what has do be done,
look beyond the infinite historical conventions invented
to prophesise a future of this ethnocentric civilised humanity.



Lotophagi