The Road to Baramati

The Road to Baramati…

Auburn winged falcons float serenely overhead,

Searching nourishment on ground long since dead;

While the bold and the beautiful of the Deccani,

Gorge themselves, on the road to Baramati.

Bare arsed children roam the streets in packs,

Collecting empty bottles, cans and plastic sacks;

And in Mumbai neon attracts the glitterati,

As they blind themselves, on the road to Baramati.

Rake thin dogs sniff, and hunt the streets like starving rats,

Women carry their children and beg, another local tourist tax;

As Cameron, Hague and boyhood cronies, their robber baron committees,

Climb aboard their Diamond encrusted gravy train, en route to Baramati.

War mongering western nations scoff at the top table feast,

As they wash their bloodied hands yet again in the Middle East;

Starting once more the War they don’t want you to see,

The struggle for middle class mediocrity, hell bent for Baramati.

The US is leading the way with their particular brand of colonialism,

Doublespeak and doublethink at the heart of their despotism;

While in India what’s important is mascara ‘Smudge free? Totally!’

On billboards fifty feet high, by the roadside in Baramati.

The Holy Land is a desert, overflowing with parasitic Russians,

The streets littered with evidence of their immoral earnings;

Profit is what matters and the Holy Land is no longer Holy;

Sodom and Gomorra have new meaning, sign posted all the way to Baramati.

The Chinese are rampant, developing their version of Original sin,

Collecting wholesale dollars while the US quietly invades Darwin;

And in India the police strut about with their cruel looking lahtis,

As the power elite crush everything, on the road to Baramati.

Once again, in the old empire, the police are worried about rioting,

But the government and GB Inc want the cash tills to keep on ringing;

So the people are kept quiet with good Queen Bess’s Diamond Jubilee,

Allowing the good and the great to cash in, all the way to Baramati.

The world’s bankers have been at it, and found to have their hands in the till,

But it’s ok; they’re not criminals, they’re just taking their rightful fill;

And the air gets filled with pollution by the dhobi wallahs of Delhi,

As industry provides additional entropy, on the road to Baramati.

They lent money to corrupt and institutionalised vagabonds,

While the Germans refused to activate and sell future Eurofonds;

So we work harder and pay more, and they slink off with their Bibis;

Into a 24 carat sunset, first class, all the way to Baramati.

Meanwhile the Olympic circus has entered dear old London town,

Giving every minor celebrity the chance to earn an extra crown;

Get in while the getting’s good, and multiply your fee,

Somewhere, sport lost its way, on the road to Baramati.

And all the while they treat us with the contempt we deserve,

Conveniently ignoring the fact that they actually get paid to serve;

Stealing money from the poor, the unemployed, less able and savvy,

A redistribution of wealth to ease their ride, on the road to Baramati

The big society was their rallying call; all in it together,

Obviously that doesn’t apply if you’re poor, disabled or unable to gather;

As hyphenated smith wields cuts, like a Ghurkha swinging his Kukri,

And they got lost too, on the way home, on a road to Baramati.

Nothing has changed, neither for Kofi nor Blair, they’re still there,

Collecting their squalid cheques, and sitting in their five star chairs;

The fraudulent and decadent west’s substantial new polity,

This is the price we pay for democracy, on the road to Baramati.

TC© 2012