Declaration and Demands

[Seated At A Cherrywood Desk En His Uncle’s Tuscan Villa,
The Divine Messenger Puts His Bamboo Quill 2 A Blank Sepia Page.

En A Writing Vox, Born Of Love And Courage, He Authors A Declaration
And Then A Litany Of Demands On The Present World And Its Amoral Pantheon.]

WE choose 2 not defile our spirits with your political bodies
WE choose 2 not be the building stones of an economic bastille
That will enevitably call upon us 2 smith shackles 4 our brothers
And then ourselves

WE choose 2 not do this
WE choose 2 not lie, cheat, and steal
WE choose 2 not have our spirits brought 2 heal

WE choose 2 not fear our neighbor
2 not envy his happiness
2 not covet his dame

WE choose 2 not walk blindly
2 not be blind

WE choose 2 not shed another precious drop of blood
4 the brutes en suits
And striped silk ties

WE choose 2 not covet the purse of our countrymen
WE choose 2 not hoard the pantry’s Ghee
When WE know there are Paupers and Pros who need it most

WE choose 2 not demonise
WE choose 2 not hate
WE choose 2 not be the willing (or unwilling) host
Of an ill-conceived and misanthropic fate

This,
WE choose

This here!
This here!

{Two-Beat Pause}

WE choose Beauty o’er Fashion
WE choose Resolve o’er Blame

WE choose Thalia o’er Scarcity
WE choose Bliss o’er Fame

Thus

WE, the Seekers and Sowers of The Aesthetics Underground,
Demand a great healing 4 a world terribly sick

A world w/out oil (4 the lantern’s wick)
A world w/out flow

A world w/out light
A world w/out soul

{One-Beat Pause}

A world w/out poise
A world w/out rarefied aire
(4 the Righteous 2 breathe)

A world w/out maidens,
Tall, blonde, and irresistibly fair
(Much too fair 4 Love’s Rogue 2 leave)

{Fingercymbals-Twice}

WE demand Prometheus be unbound
WE demand Atlas be given wings
WE demand Medusa be adored (4 the divinity she is)

WE demand the right of our Heav’nly Grandmother’s apron pouch
2 house a bevy of otherworldly things:

Golden Apples,
Figs and Almonds and Pomegranate Seeds!

WE demand a new Garten 4 Adonis
And a new grazing Skye 4 Apollo’s fiery steeds

WE demand that Mercy like Misery
Be given the freedom 2 walk stride 4 stride

From dusk ‘til morn
From tide 2 tide

{Two-Beat Pause}

WE demand that ev’ry Prince and Princess born
Be granted the means 2 re-di-rect their personal lot

WE demand an arrow thru ev’ry heart
And a shakti 4 ev’ry maverick, en the thicket, caught

Thus

WE, the Seekers and Sowers of The Aesthetics Underground,
Demand a great healing 4 a world terribly sick

Sick of Sorrow
Sick of Ignorance

Sick of Tyranny
Sick of Pain

Sick of Division

Sick, sick, sick
. . . at heart

© The Herder 20Seventeen

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Padma

These are new revelations,
Olde, abandoned diamond mines
W/ new expectations

Drums strike! Trumpets blare! Cymbals crash!
And voices, exquisitely raised, reach Palaces on high

Nev’r mind the smoldering cinders
Of a once great love / Now, hopelessly lost

Nev’r mind those Mongers of War
W/ too much sand and blood on their hands

Nev’r mind the dry river beds
Nev’r mind those crys from the waste land

Nev’r mind the bollocks!

Nev’r mind those derogatory scenes –
Miss Knox arriving at the Duke’s Ball

Miss Knox wrestling w/ gravity’s angel
(En order 2 stand tall)

Nev’r mind her suffragette jargon
Nev’r mind her manifesto
Brimming w/ all that self-delusion
And all those lies
(Catching her Papa by surprise)

Why so much drool on the chin?
Why so many slaps 2 the face?

Hark the Junky (still counting his scars)
Your contusions,
Not your charms, make the case, Belle.
Rubbish en / Rubbish out!

Nev’r mind the Tyrant’s executive decrees –
His tyranny, like all dross, will fall away
When the folk awake, breaking his spell,
And demand 2 be free

Dontcha do it
Dontcha dare

Dontcha dare
Journey from that immovable spot!

Not when she’s so close
Not when she’s there

Padma walking along the Ganges en Benares
Pigtails en her hair

Mind her rice bowl (nev’r empty)
Mind her breast (always fill’d w/ light)

Mind her dark skin, the skin of the fair-est
Mind her dark eyes (how they illumine the skye at the nite)

Mind the orange ripples of her bridal sari
Mind the prāna
Mind the flow

Mind how the winds gather around her ankles
(How they billow, how they blow)

Mind how she dances
Mind how she sings

Mind the ghanta
Mind its toll and how it beckons the devas when it rings

Again,
Nev’r mind the bollocks!

Mind Padma walking along the Ganges

She knows
She knows
She knows

The song
Is the thing

©LogosVox 2014