Are We Broke? Poem by Chris Jibero

It's so scary a dream
Nay, a daymare, if ever
There would be one,
For it's in a mere nap,
Or, perhaps, it's a great vision
Hush, hush is the game
And fear overwhelms me
Having seen a gory spectre
A harbinger of bad report
Our oil pot is unexpectedly
Dry says she, and pandemonium
And tears take over freely

Horrifying news to hear
That motherland is clandestinely
Hemorrhaging to death
From a long self-inflicted
Festering injury untreated
Whose pain and stench she has borne
Like a wretched widow
Whose overdue pregnancy
Is the responsibility of a famous loafer

The telltale signs of insolvency
Hangs all over her like the skies
In choking unsettled bills
Unimplemented budget at the eleventh hour
Biting poverty spreading like wild fire
In a clustered bamboo village
And a mourning crowd wearing long faces
That mirror bellies in abject lack of victuals

Fathers have sold their balls
At a koboworth bazaar for none dares
Look the people in the face
To break the ugly news
That motherland has been milked dry

Oh goodness, may I be awoken quickly
To be informed that it's just a dream
And our heroes past have not turned
To now and future villains.


(C) Chris Jibero.2010.