[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

Nothing Personal

When power weds with grabbiness
then honour, trust and truth will die.
When countries are commodities
becoming things you’d sell or buy,
when just one man plus sycophants
encapsulate a nation’s ills
then all that’s foul becomes as fair
as all is grist to grifters’ mills.

The winners smile, a deal is done,
a pocket’s where the buck will stop
while peace is chambered in a gun.

Out from the bleakness of despair,
over rubble and contorted bone
the blind, black eyes of buildings stare.



Forest line was
When breasts guve grabbiness as suck.