WE have begged that the vows we had with the people be remembered for they stood by us when we felt in error he was unfairly treated. But all in vain, he has ignored their longings, expectations and cravings…and driving them to awful grief.
What can we do for the people in their disapppiontment and pains and sorrow and grief? They are aggressive like tigers with curbs whenever you talk about him and politics and development and schools and hospitals like people protecting their pains – their dying children. They are still our own for they are hear with us – knocking on our doors like heaven’s gate.
What they guard is their losses which they have nursed into anger. That is why they wont talk to us.
Give them palliatives, the hidden and rotten ones. How can they eat or sleep when the pall of melancholy drives them insane?
They talk about their votes like people talking about their dead.
They cry over their dirty smelling roads, their flooded homes, filthy gutters…
They have been abandoned to suffer propaganda and rethorics in this wretched place wet with stench and clam.
No, their pain is not done – I eavesdropped recently and heard them talking about a deserter in their furtive voices and whispers. Who knows if this is true as we must leave our eyes wide shut, or open.
The walls have ears and full of whispers across the wailing walls that seperate us from them.
They speak in low voices like mutineers in the recesses of their homes. The women cover their mouths and walk the kids to bed.
Are we recording this miserable passage?
Are we taking notes of each unbroken chord? – the charms of pains?
Remember they say terrible things breed in broken hearts – and I see the broken pieces in their eyes – their red hot eyes that cannot be calmed.
Do you think they are cut off in grief?
Won’t it boil over and make them turn into vampires?
Let us walk in groups and at night with arms lest we are swept away in their mounted rage.
(This is part of series of drama to be performed)
