the wall

.
turning away the undesirables,
walls are erected and crashed for a visual effect,
to distract the narrator (writing the agenda
for a proliferation of monetized views),
the mime (whitewashing the colored dreams
and allegories), the easy villain (the ruling executive
of the sunny side of the ocean view),
the adjacent actors of another play
(such conniving bureaucracy-plagued rats),

spreading chewed-up scripts across
the lines, reducing rubble to star-shaped tears
that the audience sheds in bitter spite
in another facade of care for loss
of territory (physical, emotional,
newsworthy) to the others.

walls are sky-high and ground-low,
allowing a jump across the plentitude of
warring sorrows, detracting
from the original propaganda of
a cornucopia themed global party.

still, they hold onto each other, share
embraces across the digital lines
that are wearisome of such laments,

zeroes and ones do not come in lieu of
the white privilege. it is the surge,
exhibiting the tranquil prosperity
of the “north”,

chanting neoliberalism mantras
for another market fall
(protectionism is the wall with spikes
and peaked nation-first promises),

as the trampled upon shores of
lands-exotica (tourist packages to
mull over the different smelling
waters of the developing and
the underdeveloped — everyone loves
“curry spice” after all) carry
the weight of stones, mining
soils and rocks and ores to
build a nice-safety-barrier
of a wall.

the audience is sorry to applaud
the dramatic that turns to caged positions
of unknown profiteering
in flouting those labour laws —

so fulfill the thirst from the blood that seeps down
the wall, and eat the flesh of the new world’s
oh-so-holy-lord.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

For Midweek Motif at PU
Edit: After pondering over it for a while, I have deleted the description.
Image source (Neoliberalism by Tiago Hoisel)

***

For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.