Kit Kelen #1303 - old play book (poem for Hong Kong)

1303

old play book

(poem for Hong Kong)

26.vii.2019

remember this!

thugs show up from nowhere

but they were always here

there and everywhere

because the people rose

they were waiting for the signal

ours and among us

where are the police today?

could be anytime

anyone

anywhere

they cart you off for what you believe

they call a bullet law

what does that sound like to you?

something like this has happened before

this is the city that will remember

these millions are just themselves

see them on the street to say

dress all the same today

it’s white shirt and chopper

(Yuen Long fashion)

someone stands up says

democracy

justice

where do we empty out the words?

the ones making history won’t know it

and the mocking laughter comes

are they anyone’s brothers, sons?

the ones in the uniforms

the ones who improvise

buy a steel bar in the hardware store

flash mob, pop up anywhere

loyal to what they are told, to a dollar

they are the terror today

with cudgel, with chopper

we know the kind of world they wish

where are the police?

when will they come?

‘I have the right’ somebody says

‘I know what things are over the border

how they are’

will you know a fascism when it comes?

can you hear the hot breath of how it has been?

the monsters are out on the streets again

long leash they have

and feel so free

(does not require intelligence

but they feel their love is true)

could be anywhere now, tomorrow

the big monsters and the little

the ones who pay

those who are paid

and the people are out to be themselves

to simply say ‘it’s us

don’t forget’

the border is shrivelling up now

the border is almost gone

it is a ceremony ­– difference

do you know how this ends?

names in a book

summary justice

not justice at all

they cart you off for what you believe

they call a bullet law

we know how it is over there

there is no information

tyranny leads away from truth

from rights

reporting

how prosperous we’ve been

it was a cure for poverty

to smog the sky

beyond a breath

but everyone believed

so sad

so sad so wrong

we have been too many

now so small

the thugs are out again to say

‘don’t dare

don’t think this place is yours

or that you will decide’

how weary the world is with this story

and here we come

the monsters are out again

something sharp in the hand

they hospitalise

strike like a storm

where you won’t know

we know how things are handled here

will you be among those who stood?

or hide, like me, at home in words?

somewhere to otherside the world

in a future no one can foresee

I hear it

a murmur

they are adding to a long list of names

poor poor old Hong Kong

I remember how it ends

how the tanks roll over all who stand

stand up!

they are coming again

tribes of ‘don’t know’

brigades of forget

thugs who thrilled with the kill

here is the city that will remember
fly in the ointment

thorn in the inside

and go about your business

pretend

the point however is to change the world

do you think they’ll let it go this time?

it’s only a simple thing to wish

everyone fights to be free

and someone says

‘get real

politics is an art of the possible’

they cart you off for what you believe

they call a bullet law

will they leave flowers?

will you be among those who stood?

to save ourselves from dictatorship

this is everyone’s lifework

some take to the streets

some creep in a poem

whichever way you witness

remark

protection from tyranny

injustice

the song says ‘stand up’

won’t you?

won’t we?

or is it just a song?

so sad

so sad

so wrong

poor, poor Hong Kong