The Poor People of Paris (1789-1989) by Kumud Biswas SignUp
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The Poor People of Paris (1789-1989)
by Kumud Biswas
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  Pillaged and plundered
For ages they slumbered
The poor people of Paris.
They never grudged
The king his crown
Nor his throne divine,
The priest his privileges
Nor the lord’s domain
Over their body and soul.
The king had his arms
The priest his miracles
The lord his muscles
The poor their peaceful sleep
Without any dream,
Everything in proper places
And in proper order
As God preordained.

Others there were however
Who were neither pauper nor prince.
Always they want to climb
Lest they slide down
They never sleep.
They think they get
Less than what they would
And a few get more than what they should.
So they screamed and cried
Everything to re-ordain.
Provoked to a dream
The dream of a heaven
Where bread is buttered
The poor people woke up from their sleep
And led by lady Guillotine
They lost their mind
And fought as if blind
Never knowing who was their friend
Who was their foe.
The down went up
The up went down
The king lost his crown
The priest his gown
And the lord his domain.
When the frenzy quieted down
The poor looked around
To see their handiwork.
They saw before them
A level ground.
But lo! all was not level
They were amazed to find
In the middle there was a mound
With a chair on it not a throne
And some people on that chair
Who of course wore no crown.
They were their priests
Without however gowns.
The poor dare not own
They recognize these men
They are the merchants of their dreams.

Because of a bulldozer
The land is level without any break
Without any cover
Where the poor could dream to sleep in peace.
Those men on the chair, their conscience keepers,
From their vantage ground
Jealously spy over the fold
Fenced off by barbed wires
And overflooded by lights
From four big watch towers
Preventing the poor
From slipping through the fence
To flee from their dream
Now a nightmare.

Le petit corporal
Spare the poor their sleep
And may you be the emperor!

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May 18, 2003
More By: Kumud Biswas
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