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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392340" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>North America Internal Combustion Engine Era Diorama Rant</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a smoky diorama, under glass<br>At the corner of the century,100 million were asked<br>To choose between a facile man, who presented himself cleverly<br>Hiding his real designs<br>And a complex man, presenting himself poorly<br>Hiding his hopes and dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I peered through the screen<br>They chose the latter in their numbers. But<br>High office was awarded to the one<br>Who played a better legal game.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shook the glass in disbelief, put it aside<br>Waited for a while, and picked it up again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Four years on, the facile man<br>Was widely understood, to believe <br>That the problems of his nation<br>And of its interests in the world<br>Could be solved by war<br>And by threats of war<br>Economic pressure on the poor<br>And a heavy gag of fear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This time the masses chose him, by a narrow margin<br>Or so it appeared, depending on <br>Assessments of mysterious reports <br>Of polling station irregularities<br>From somewhere called Ohio. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The glass steamed up<br>Got really murky<br>At this point.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I called in our resident anthropologist.<br>She studied the little creatures<br>And the chaotic scene they made<br>And she kindly interpreted: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That appears to mean that 50 million creatures<br>Adults of the species<br>Who live complicated lives, seem smart enough to survive<br>In an unforgiving system, to educate their kids, <br>And get their families fed<br>Somehow and nonetheless, <br>Expect a facile man<br>Who serves the combustion machine<br>To bring solutions to their table, even after<br>His comprehensive exposure<br>As a creature deluded by grandeur<br>And a heart of malign intent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It must be in the packaging, the machinery of fear<br>The smog that obscures these tiny figures<br>And keeps them apart from each other.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then a faint voice spoke, barely audible<br>Amid the constant hum and babble<br>From the margin of the tableau</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Screw this. I'd rather discuss the environment<br>Or the legacy of Vietnam, the finer points<br>Of human rights<br>The poverty trap and the soul's escape<br>With his opponents any day<br>Over a glass of wine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I guess it's just me, and the other 50 million. <br>Unfortunately<br>I have some fixed ideas<br>That I can't shake from my head<br>About how imperia should be run<br>And for whom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How does it feel, Colin Powell? <br>You could have been the first real black President<br>An American Mandela, who knows what potential you were hiding inside? <br>Instead, you will go down in the history<br>As the one who lied about mythical weapons<br>To enable an illegal war.<br>We'll always remember your absurd props<br>Test tubes and grainy spy photographs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How does it feel, Colin Powell? <br>And all the rest of you sacrificial fools? <br>How does it feel to be played<br>By a man so unremittingly shallow<br>That it's news whenever he reads a book! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of course I'm part of the non-gas-guzzling<br>Internationalist, humanist, French-speaking<br>Liberal elite. I live in exile up here on the coast<br>Judging y'all. Bien sur, I think I'm smarter than you. <br>But it don't matter who I am, or who might be screaming this.<br>Your crimes will stand, and with them you will fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All your imperial Presidents, your Secretaries of State and Defence.<br>Lucky for you<br>That you chickened out of the Hague Tribunal.<br>We'd have witnesses up to testify. Iraqi mothers<br>Whose children were slain by your 'shock and awe'.<br>Chilean mothers, Guatemalan, Salvadorean, Nicaraguan mothers<br>Angolan, Mozambican, Vietnamese mothers, whose children<br>Were maimed by your proxies, your landmines and your bombs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We wouldn't have hung you by the neck, as you did Saddam.<br>We'd have you listening to their testimony, day after day<br>Until all your victims had had their say, for all the years it would take<br>Unless you die of natural causes first<br>Their voices echoing in your dreams <br>And through the soil of your graves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how does it feel, American mothers, <br>Last but not least, your sons and your daughters<br>Dead in their bloody uniforms<br>Crippled and maimed<br>Traumatised by their violent dreams, for the sake of a man<br>And his murderous team, that force-fed you with lies? <br>Let him know how it feels to you. It's your right<br>And one thing that he can't take away.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That's what we seemed to hear through the glass<br>Rabbiting on without end, it seemed<br>A faint and lonely voice<br>Or was it two, or several. Couldn't tell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, my patience is not infinite.<br>Bored with all this parochial talk<br>I threw the little box aside<br>The glass screen cracked on the sharp edge<br>Of one of my many garbage cans<br>Scattering the millions of figurines, all across the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh well. Just too bad.<br>Someone will have to sweep up again.<br>And I resumed<br>The construction of life in other times and worlds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Frank+Bana">Frank Bana</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392340" data-title="North America Internal Combustion Engine Era Diorama Rant de Frank Bana" data-description="In a smoky diorama, under glass
At the corner of the century,100 million were asked
To choose between a facile man, who presented himself cleverly
Hiding his real designs
And a complex man, presenting himself poorly
Hiding his hopes and dreams.

A..."></div>
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