She laughs. Her pale neck gleams.
She howls. Her pale neck gleams.
She waltzes behind Lucifer,
Bearer of palls, harbinger of gloom,
Rabble rouser banished to his own hell.
He cries. He laughs. He sings:
“I love you, you poor, fallen sods. I will open my hell for you.
Tartarus is waiting for you.”
The din grows outside. The queues grow long.
Frowns crowd his forehead. Can they not stay quiet?
Her pale neck gleams.
Oh Marie Antoinette! How right you were!
The poor are such an inconvenience
Their demands endless.
But I, Lucifer, know how to keep them quiet.
The ghost of Marie Antoinette lurks
In a trail of flames. The violin crescendos.
The curtains rise. Lucifer blinks.
He revels in pandemonium.
“I have left everything for you, my fallen angels
I live and die for you.” The fallen angels roar back.
“We love you Lucifer. We live and die for you.”
The ghost of Marie Antoinette waltzes among them
Absorbed in her own invisible tune
We are nothing. We are nobodies
We are the fallen angels
we will suffer so Pandemonium can prosper!
The ghost of Marie Antoinette claps and cheers
The echoes reach far and wide
To the hospital where Morta waits -- to separate the soul
Of a newborn from the body,
To queues where the old faint, die. Collateral damage.
To funeral houses where 150 corpses, and counting, await cremation
The ghost of Marie Antoinette waltzes among them
She lurks. Her pale neck gleams.
She laughs. Her pale neck gleams.
She howls. Her pale neck gleams.
####This poem is in response to the current situation in the world where demagogues rule and the poor man suffers. What are we doing about it?
Author Bio:
Nilanjana Bhowmick is a poet based in New Delhi, India. Her poems traverses gender justice, social change, politics and certain nebulous regions of the mind. Follow her poetry on instagram @dreams_and_duststorms