Is there a vegetable scent in the air?
Or falafel, or even vegan cheese,
That wafts
through this shiny conference hall,
On the air-conditioned
breeze?
It swirls
around me as I sit at my stall,
With the
leaflets, the books and
the badges,
It‘s the
smell of no real politics at all,
From those
who look in from the edges.
This event would
be like a children’s crusade,
But often
shorts-clad legs show knobbly knees,
Supporting
grey haired heads that are full to the brim,
With buzzing
obsessional bees.
Then a
younger generation is here as well,
Urgent,
smooth and ambitious
To make
political careers and bureaucratic machines,
By rigged
agendas and cliquish seditions.
I sit and
observe from my pamphlet-laden table.
I’ve lost
interest in spurious debates,
Between the
intersecting factions, all unable
To save this
planet from its climactic fates.
So like
refuges on a rudderless boat,
We cling on,
because we daren’t jump out,
As we
randomly drift, and stay barely afloat,
To some new land
we all dream about.
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