It has started. The performers fall in slivers
A silver pendulum, where the grand bangs drums
That don't sing, but blast a thrum
Through the seats below the ground.
Where the emcees voice is hoarse is a gun,
A gun that shoots shirts into the crowd,
Cheers, boos, fake snow
wafts by.
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Author:
fkoshk (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 24th, 2023 06:41
- Comment from author about the poem: made during the 2023 chingay parade. saw the president in person for the first time. i wonder what she thinks of her life. does she feel real?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
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