I can almost see it in the falling sunshine, in the changing faces of the crowd. Startled, dumbfounded, confused extrusions in and out of a 'golden cage'.
I am made to believe
on everything big and grand,
waxed, marbled,
or even glossy magazine covers.
I am made to believe
that the food inflation is necessary,
poor should get poorer,
and our invisible leaders
have motorcades to create traffic snarls.
I am made to believe
that MNCs not only arm twist
one another in business strategy
and talent acquisition;
they wipe their dirt with robust reforms.
Though, I do believe
that there is redemption
in this madness,
and that we will find our way
through the thick smoke of commercials.
your preface together with the words and sentiments you express here necessarily make me think of New York today, Debs; I have just been given a beautiful belated birthday present of an illustrated guide and am gorging myself on meandering through it. I adore The Chrysler Building, though, in its time, I guess it stood for much of what is represented in your poem. In context, therefore, guess "I am made to believe" is both a retrospective and of our own life and times... and only time will tell, I guess. It seems to me we perpetually inhabit a city/dreamscape of thick smoke... I can walk the streets of your stanzas like a lucid dream... great work as always, xx
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