Calls of The Bretton Woods
The gamblers are tossing their coins
They will play royale casino at the bourse house
And soon they will shit pebbles of diamonds and dollars
To agreedly fly in the face of economy of wind
But who will bear the pall of their corpse of woes
Who will do the Keynesian belly dance in the Woods of Bretton
To salvage their days and nights of nothing but their imperial libido
To salvage their honeysuckle from the grounded street that is lost in its way

They do not know capital breeds capital
But no standing peace in the line of control
As large behemoths crumble to a circle of reason
They only know how to be there in their ancien regime
To forge ahead with the crooked inheritance of no control
When an occasional blue day raises its hackle to chime
And they get together to play the buffoon in a mess of pantomime.

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Kamaruzzaman
Poetry
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writing Kamaruzzaman
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