Bloodhounds and Pension Schemes.

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“Good bye, blue sky
Good bye, blue sky
Good bye.
Good bye.”

Pink Floyd.

Another violent reprisal.
Another baton-wagging tear-shedding dispersing of
Who-is-it-this-time?. 250 bloodshot,
A crippled family showering hands over a maimed dead.
Another protest; another tear gas cannister;
Another IGP; yet another minister

Another press briefing,
Washing of hands before assorted mics.
Another justification of pealed basmati lies.
Sing, Collins: “Another day in Paradise”.
Another day… Another sun shining day…

“It was when the Police asked them protesters to sit
Someone from behind a murky stone ball hit.
Didn’t you see the Police run? They ran, retreated
Way beyond the Police fence…
We had to bring the Seeduwa Police and it was they
Who rebutted, to get the protesters out of the way…”

Seeduwa Police, Katunayake Police:
Who cares, Mr. Minister?
All Police is Police; as all
Blood that shoots out of broken bone
Is to the colour blood red in parallel a tone.

In a year where lies run out, where
Faces peep out the wax from which they’re molded,
The IGP made to resign — courting a hurrah and a
World Record even in that decoy and drag —
In a year where lies and paint faces run dry

Bring back the pension scheme, stamp out the
Free Trade Zone to where ground bone dries
Underneath the bone. This is the
Working Class struggling —
Baton charge them down.




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