The cargo is flying away and we're gathered
To witness the finish of what we found sacred.
Our engines are thirsty and whine as we clamor
Around the last tanker that wasn't quite emptied.
A silvery age is departing; propelling
An angel of turbine away on an airstream.
The scientists sit on the plane drinking coffee;
Their families gaze at the smoke from the ruins
Of home—once a city, now cluttered with refuse.
From dollars to gold; and now batteries purchase
A barrel of fuel—which I load in my pickup.
I'm waiting for things to return back to normal;
For people to smile and make plans for the future
And stop with the grasping; the tricks and the thieving.
I'm waiting for hope while he's waiting for nothing.
He's grabbing my drum and it's spilling the fluid
That everyone wants and it turns into vapor
And flies off to heaven to join all the cargo
That's never returning. Another is screaming
'It's over' and rushes the crowd that encircles
My gasoline, rolling my drum. And the liquid
Of power is spilling all over. A lighter...
“Protests against a recent increase in fuel prices shut down markets, schools, airports and businesses across India on Monday, and thousands of people were arrested as violence flared in some cities... About 1,000 people gathered at Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi’s main commercial hub, to protest the price increases and listen to speeches by opposition politicians.”
– Heather Timmons and Hari Kumar, July 5, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/06/business/global/06rupee.html?hpw
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