Monday, September 10, 2012

‘Ministry of Hurt Sentiments’ by Altaf Tyrewala

On the granite floor of the global market

"War is an Aquaguard salesman

He stands on the street across your building

And looks up at your flat with the absorption of a gravedigger

Who's trying to estimate what size holes will be needed

In the event that you and your kin consume rat poison

To spare you the ignominy of impending eviction

When you committed to that thirty-year home mortgage

You thought the future would honour the hopes you'd hoisted on it

The future turned out to be a soapy floor

With no neon sign warning you to tread carefully

You were sliding along smoothly

Till you slipped and cracked your destiny's hip

On the granite floor of the global market

That prowls the planet like an addict

Seeking the next cut-rate labour hit.'

 

"The Africans are the new drug of choice

The Asians can have their backlit toys

By the time they notice

They'll have become the new Americans

Hooked to newness

Needing too many things of too little uses…"

(pp. 76-7, 'Ministry of Hurt Sentiments' by Altaf Tyrewala – Harper)

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