WE ARE BEAUTIFUL: NOT REALLY POETRY

_{pixabay: SandeepHanda}

I am strutting,
the streets of my dream city,
living the life,
sipping the juice of the lips
of the morning
kissing my face with chill dew.
I am the lord,
the king of my segment of reality.
I summon greatness
with a thought and my children,
my followers, lackeys and ass-lickers
are never lacking.

In this city of mine,
there’s always music
and the music is always good.
I am the grand composer
and I bow to a steady ovation
after every orchestra.
In this city, we are beautiful,
I am beautiful; I am free
in the city of my dreams.

Let love come to complete
this beautiful thing that we have found.
Let the piano subtly sink into the air
like fresh breath and seduce the world
to its knees before me,
For I am king, I rule from one end
to the other of my alley.
The runaway cats and dogs,
upturned bins, vagabonds and rats
are my subjects.
They all bow when I come
because I take care of them,
I heal them of their pain,
I give them a reason to breathe,
I am their king and my rule is complete.

You think my city small,
my subjects poor?
But they are rich in many ways.
Their hearts are gold
and their love is infinite.
They keep my city clean
and do not let weeds
or debris float the bloated drains
that wind through my kingdom.
They are my people and I am their lord.

The music is our life
and when the opera is done
and silence descends on my city,
we turn to the moon
and listen to her sing her lullaby
to the sea. Yes music is our life.
We do not have clothes on our backs
or food to eat.
We do not remember the faces
of our mothers but we are free
and the night is always kind to us.

We have fought wars, been broken,
been healed, been lied to
and some of us have died
but we are strong
and we continue to march on.
Yes being the king of this city
is dangerous business but it is all i have and i will protect it with my life.

You consider us to be weak
and you take shots at us.
Drive-bys on my city streets,
ra-ta-ta of curses, phlegm, dust, mud, shoves, stabs and guns too
are the gifts you offer when we pass
but we are not bothered
neither are we surprised;
are you not human?
When have you understood
anything that is beyond your grasp?

This is our life,
the music is our own,
the streets are made
by the blood of our fathers
and we have lived here long
before the humans considered this place.

My children,
we have hidden in the shadows,
not because we are weak
but because if we step into the light,
it will make them feel shame
and with shame comes hate
and hate is a thing
that we do not understand
but they do too well.
We will leave them the comfort
of thinking they are the masters
of the world. We know better, don’t we? This is ours, this small space.
This is our world, my kingdom,
my people, the city of my dreams.

©warpedpoetic, 2018.