Poetry

Saturday, 4 November 2023

Nyolcas - the buckled wheel

 Took my bike to the bicycle shop

The one on Kada ut

The guy there was like "I don't speak English"

I'm not even gonna say hello


He wore this dark mask on his face

This plaintiff unmerciful look

As if he accused me of stealing his rainbow

That a Siamese twin should know


He cycled back to his banana republic

Of being alone

When I think of all the cruel things

People say, my heart turns into a stone

This land is not a kind one

This is pick a bone

This is smile and you get kicked in the teeth

This land says "Leave me alone!"


What is the point of helping these folks

Who care not a tuppence for me

What is the point of giving them taxes

So with their laws they can

Stop me being free?


I am sure such a land is a murder field.

I am sure they'll crucify me

If they knew what I thought

Of their dumb ass navigation

Through the world of democracy


This place could be the worst in Europe.

This place is a Soviet Stooge

It is biding its time for an invasion

Then with Russia it will cause a deluge


And pack up the Warsaw Pact

And write for treatments of treaties at home

And put right all that Trianon put wrong

And finally end up all alone


No the wheel doesn't turn straight

It's bent, bent as a copper

It has been beaten

By the forces of state

Its spokesmen are out of whack

By a whopper


And you may Big Mac your way to the top

On European subsidies

But if you take from the Robber barons of

The East, from your debts you'll never

get free.


So why don't you straighten out your own wheel

The wheel of your democracy

Because until you give the spokespeople

Full freedom of speech

All you'll get is a jelly state that will wobble

and topple


And if you look to your own people to fix it

I'm afraid they're as corrupt at the bottom

as they are at the top

You need a new system of administration

If you want this corruption to stop

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