One of my favourite poems is 'Slough' by John Betjeman. And I really don't mind the controversy that surrounds the poem. I suggest you read that before reading this one as this is a homage to Betjeman's original. I based this one on Delhi. Delhi is no longer the city I was born and grew up in (for a while).
Come friendly bombs and drop on Delhi,
For it feels more like a beast’s belly,
With clogged streets and drains smelly.
Chaos reigns!
Come, bombs and blow the caucuses
Or those air-conditioned government offices,
Filed papers, Filed lies, Filed confidence,
Filed tears, Filed pains.
Drop and clean the mess they call a city-
A room for 20 large, still itty-bitty
And extra for electricity
For a month at least.
And get that man in white clothes
Who kings and sins and grabs the throats,
Whose skin is drenched in people’s loathe
The blood’s his feast
And burn his hat that once showed truth
And smash and burn his office booth
And stop his ways raw and uncouth
And make him cry.
But spare the young ones on the street
Through those only jobs they make ends meet,
It’s not their fault the city brings them defeat,
They’d rather die.
It’s not their fault they don’t know right
Their justice lost in the dark of night
It’s no surprise that they just might
Sigh and give in.
Have drugs and booze they might just
Talk instead of their animal lust,
Won’t try to win the love and trust
And now they sin.
Their mothers warm polluted breads
And serve them water that they dread,
And fruits too are chemical red
Their poisoned toasts.
Come, friendly bombs and drop on Delhi
For all they show is hate on their telly
And politicians think they’re Machiavelli,
The city’s a ghost.
The city’s a ghost.
