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Kafka re-trial - poetry

 

Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a shiny alien craft, And at the same time as he is wondering what to do He is asked to show his pass Or pay an minute one off fine At a cash distributor of his choice And they are inspection all the time On his irises face and voice.

And of classes they find that he is not, They detect he just cannot be there, Although he seems as if he is visible, And has hands and toes and hair, If he is not on the Great Data Bank, He plainly and cleanly cannot be, He is not planned and he is not ranked He is certainly not like you and me.

So they cant capture him in custody But they do not have to let him go He never ever happened, period So who can ever tell, or know. So on a lonely bench in quiet shade He sits alone and unremarked, Wondering what games they play, Against the conditions of the park.

And so, are we just the opposite, Are we all consigned to concealed files, Are equipment deciding who we are, Where we live, and when we smile, Is nonentity a a few and real fact, Unless laptop interconnected true, And must your file go into error, How can you prove, you are actually you.

How do you verify physically for a loan, If your grade gets compromised, How do you abolish all their data, Making you a recluse in others eyes, You may hold calligraphy of validity, They may diffidently know its you, Unless their approach grants absolution, There is nonentity they can say or do.

So if not we are confirmable as sound, And our image assuages Superhal, No one will ever trust us again, No one will ever want to be our pal, But this is not like yesteryear, When a quick query empty your name, Your questions are just registered, And you just get told how to complain.

Complaints are collated and quantified, They are cross filed and referenced, You must never lose this number, And you must never take offence, You are frequently adjourned, Or moved to yet a further floor, In the hope that you will falter, From all that has gone before.

Meanwhile youre mugged, not statistically, Contract MRSA, but its not on file, Your brood cannot read or write, But their qualifications raise a smile, You constantly hit potholes that dont exist, To save before you on trains that dont arrive, But whose flexitimes prove you missed, The only one late out of fifty five.

You cry out to be heard aloud, But the echoes mock your voice, You cannot allow the telephone, Cant bypass enforced menus of choice, Cannot commerce a lone human being, By department, name or reason, All this evolved like a dripping tap, Season upon big brother season.

Then one day under your own steam in solitude, Your will to try almost quenched, There is the quiet of the shady park, There is the man upon the bench, Who looks at you knowingly, And asks you if you ever read, And says Then I am Kafka, You Must Tell Me What You Need.

So He went up to their doors, The Nameless Man with Mysterious Face, And bearded them in their blessed den, Their plush admired and holy place, And caused complete consternation, As he each was not actually there, Or as a matter of fact in point of fact physically existed, Solidly meeting silent in his chair.

So they asked him what he would want, If he were real and not mere illusion, For his advent was so inopportune, His face and skin causing confusion, His DNA was an embarrassment, Never born, nor listed, nor created, Never taxed, treated, nor arrested, Never being paid a non education.

So he stood up to his full height, And drew up his deepest breath, That made him seem immortal, And made them all fear death, And his mighty voice resounded, So much the walls retained his words, We want to be persons again We want to speak and to be heard, We want our voice to certainly matter, And we want to hear no more lies, We want illusion swept away, Replaced by association of the wise, We want collective sense to prevail, And not algebraic subterfuge, Which tries to tell us its all ok, When we know it must improve, We want you to hand over and take, Your apparatus and Mandarins away, And we want it done immediately, Oh Yes, we want it done today.

Or else I will shine in prime time, And then all will see its me, The man who is not Kafka, The man who austerely cannot be, Then where will your credibility go, Will they ever snoop to your pleas. No, far change for the better for you to go now, And leave actuality to me.

And they went away in disarray, Whilst he heralded a new era, No one knew who the hell he was, But yet the whole thing seemed clearer, Everything was as it appeared, Nothing hidden, no more of the lies, And no one filed his disappearance, When he as a final point left our skies.

They can media us its constantly fine, Statistic prove what cannot be true, They can try to defend their lies, Attempt to airbrush annals in two, They may perceive us all as fools, Force fed on false soap opera goals, But cannot eternally check our minds, Nor believe they own our souls, For Long term lies have multiplied, And now are ringing empty and hollow, What seemed so cheap yesterday Will be disproved upon the morrow, And with these endless lies surfacing, Just Like The Man Who Could Not Be, The truth will bit by bit develop into visible, And the truth will set us free.

Ex systems programmer breathing in England


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