Amid the buzz of the train tracks,
The chatter of foreign maids,
Both on the lanes of Old Town
And in the House of Charades
There is a whisper a creeping,
Just rumours perhaps
Of a silent revolution
Unseen on TV or maps.
They are the aspiring urban bourgeoisie,
Born of ex conmen and ‘grants
Now embracing offered opportunity,
Chase for a dollar, pound note.
Hungry for their greatness,
Proud, walks with an air
So that the indigenous patriots
React in bitter despair.
“We’ve lost our good nation,
They’ve nabbed all our jobs.
We used to be able to stroll at night,
Now streets overrun with slaves, dogs and slobs.”
So the pub men think them filthy,
The media beast embraces their pound,
Politicians lower spending and prospect
Of more inner city genius’ being found.
Yet the bourgeoisie know the truth,
Irrelevant whether black or white,
For they are united in their pursuit
Of destroying status quo,
Society’s reorder coming light
BY: Ranako
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