Manifest

In this I do agree,
with you, the world and me,
that dreams can come to be,
the infinite, possibility.
So why does dawn set us free,
we, the flowering bourgeoisie,
seem to be, too gifted to see,
that in this harsh reality,
truth is just an augury,
and striving for our vanity,
man succumbs to misery.

While all we want, really,
- besides a cup of English tea -
is the world to hear our plea:
That life is not insanity,
a kind of social jubilee.
Where we own, materially,
two cars, a house and – silly –
a pet, a cat, two kids, truly,
like pleasures on a battery,
we watch the shows on TV,
real life, channel three,
the problems of a robbery,
– zap – we meet a celebrity,
who plays a role, ‘t was a comedy,
the critic saw the DVD,
but never thought it too funny,
so with a wit, the worker-bee,
criticasted the movie,
as a waste of energy.
It's a real tragedy,
when art is reduced to list, a gallery,
that explains the drones, what is beauty,
so they can buy it commercially.

But sometimes, it comes to be,
man wakes up to smell the sea,
he may well serve the infantry,
and been shot by an Iraqi;
Or she realizes, suddenly,
she is not meant as a yuppie,
there is more than contacts, socially,
what will I leave when I’m eighty?
My bank-accounts, mostly?
Whatever the cause, eventually,
they all look, in great envy,
to the artist’s destiny,
unattached to great money,
he simply writes his poetry.
Gifted are those, who want to see:
the wonders of the Sequoia tree,
light reflecting brilliantly,
or falling stars in galaxy,
a child learning the ABC,
and people singing in glory
hymns to a martyred man, INRI.

Dreams are to live, that is the key,
the wonders of life, naturally,
we are the human dynasty,
with you, the world and me,
all dreams can come to be,
the infinite, possibility,
with all this I do agree,
for now and till eternity.