Fake News (a version of Rumi)
A voice in the air says
Better be quarry than hunter.
Don't try to be the sun. Be a dust mote.
Lunar moth, love the candle.
Taste your life.
Put your shoes on upside down.
Fatburg in the white house
fat fingers twitter and fritter the truth
stripping the carcus where others merely nibble
gold teeth scraping bleach white bone
the better to bludgeon
what others strive to taste.
Dust mote lives
quarried in the everyday heat of the sun.
Things are reversed from what they should be in this place you live now.
One who should be hung on the scaffold is made emperor.
People stand and clap.
Tombs with ornamental plaster, self-conceit everywhere.
Palm trees made of wax, wax leaves and fruit, wax dirt.
Wax emperor in his wax tower
gold had never been so tarnished
yet the crowds stand and clap.
Buried deep within his ornamental tomb
freedom has never felt as much like death
the wax leaves wilt and the wax fruit rots
dust motes cling to the wax dirt.
Rumi extract taken from ‘Display', in Open Secret: Versions of Rumi, translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks (Shambala: Boston and London, 1999, p. 75).
Men's toilets at The District, Jordan Street, Liverpool, 18 May 2017
© Les Roberts 2016. All Rights Reserved.