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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