An Ode to a Deluded Generation

They're out there in the dark alleys,

of shady bars and posh restaurants

Dancing and drinking away on a Friday night

losing themselves to the loud music.

They're out there in their trendy sneakers, striving.

The shoes for which they sold a chunk of their soul,

just to show the world that they're arriving,

gradually moving towards their estranged goal.


He still remembers those days,

how they used to tell him those tales

"Strive and struggle son, for just this one time.

Later on, life is as blissful as that delicious glass of sweet lime!"

He still remembers those days,

when he burnt the midnight oil to write his own story,

for he believed them all, he believed those tales.

He believed that slow and steady wins the race,

Like a mouse turning the wheels of time,

running away to be in a better place,

to stay alive in the rat race.


They're out there sitting in fancy cafes,

sipping that cup of mocha latte

Their gaze is locked but the moments fly away,

as they tap those fingers in that ashtray.

They walk out through the door,

One more night with a known stranger,

lost in the wilderness, making love on the floor.

One more night of nothing but empty promises,

Like the desolate words,

flowing out through a miserable poet's verses.


How they all smile,

like broken mirrors on the wall.

How they all laugh, even when they fall.

Because they've learned to feel, but not to cry.

They've been taught to walk, but not to fly.


He goes home to his mother,

and lays his head on her lap

"Why am I not yet happy, mother? Why do I still suffer?", he asks

Gently the mother caresses his forehead,

"Go to sleep my son, it'll be alright.

Don't you worry my son, just take a nap"


The sun is setting now,

the roads are wet with tears

They've lived far too long in delusion

They were promised a palace

but thrown away to rot into a prison.

Soon they'll breakout and gather in crowds

They will flock together to flood the town,

The light in their eyes will shine again

that lost spark in their hearts will be found.

and the whole world will watch in awe,

as these deluded souls burn everything to the ground.


Steinbeck had said, in the eyes of these people there is the failure;

and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling

and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

One day he'll stand up and the world will be a stage,

He'll look at those rejuvenated faces in the crowd,

as his words written on a page will give rise to a revolution.

lead by a romantic and passionately deluded generation...



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