The Demon in the Airport

Beneath the iron sky, a man in a crown,

Proclaims his flock as lost, weighed down.

He chants of demons lodged in their bones,

For daring to question the golden throne.

"Why howl for bread when the jet sings loud?

Why drag your feet through this earthly crowd?

Your wounds are your own, your cries misplaced,

For wings of steel must not be disgraced."

Yet the earth groans under the burden of drought,

Hospitals echo with the silence of doubt.

Coins turn to dust, the air thick with despair,

While shadows snatch voices that dare declare.

"You speak of airports as though they were sins,

But who among you has walked their winds?

A land of fields, of sweat and toil,

Should bow to the glory of tarmac and oil."

But the earth remembers the taste of blood,

From fields once green, now soaked in mud.

The hands that built this gilded stage,

Now blister and crack in quiet rage.

Oh, crown of thorns, oh, gilded decay,

The people bear scars you cannot display.

Their eyes see through your charade of light,

As you drown their voices in the depth of night.

For the demon lies not in the hearts of the meek,

But in power that silences the brave who speak.

The throne may glitter, the airports may gleam,

But a broken nation's soul still screams.

©Bunguswa™