This poem is dedicated to Prita Mulyasari and her case against OMNI Hospital International in Indonesia.

Prita was recently acquitted, but that’s not stopping the idiot prosecuters from attempting to save face with an appeal.

The tradition was subverted
When grandmother converted
So daughters never learned the songs to sing
Songs that vibrate the inner waves
Restore color to the face
Flavor to the taste
Songs that stimulate the days
Give nature its praise
Restore harmony to the space
Fullness to the breath
Circulation to the blood
Daughters become mothers without those songs
Told that in corporate halls is where they belong
And to hear them sung you must pay a fee
No one remembers when grandmother sung them for free
Through the doors they walk, limp, crawl, are carried
Needing the songs that restore harmony to the space
Fullness to the breath
Circulation to the blood
“Sing for me….please sing for me.”
They all say to the woman in white behind the desk
“Ok, but first sign on this paper, and then we will take you to see a singer”
Ignorance holds their pen
As their life is chained to the dotted line
Hidden agendas take root with a sucker-punch design
Doors become locked
Someone in a suit & tie buys another new Mercedes
Innocence enters a room
A singer sings with charm
The lyrics have presence
But the notes cause alarm
Deep within
Innocence knows something is wrong
Sounds are dissonant
This can’t be the song
The face is still pale
Harmony is nowhere to be seen
Look at these walls
Who chose this shade of green?
How can nature be praised from the dull of florescent lights?
Excuse me singer
Something isn’t right
Shallow my breath remains
My hands tingle numb
Your instruments are cold and sharp
I don’t see a drum
How can flavor ever return to my tongue
If the songs you sing don’t inspire me to hum?
Arrogance erupts
To abruptly interrupt
“Look at this certificate, respect what I’ve become!”
This song is for you to sing
Three times a day
Do not mix with hip-hop
But a trance mix is okay
If the problems persist
Come back my way
You can go now to the front desk and pay
Indeed something isn’t right
In fact something is very wrong
A full month salary for a soul less song
Protests fall on deaf ears and smiling faces
Programmed to be obedient to the corporation
Following the policy of profit
Draining the blood of the followers of prophets
Trained singers in white
Studied songbooks for years
Can’t hit the notes that release healing tears
But their cars are nice
Their houses are big
Fanciful dine
Private school for their kids
Look in their eyes
They never loved to sing
But oh the high status singing could bring
Policy of profit
Negligence on display
Just smile and make them pay anyway
In pain
They come in search of the songs
The healing tones that vibrate the inner waves
The healing tones forgotten when grandfathers edict
Condemned them to the grave
Deep within
Innocence knows
It knows there’s place where they still sing the songs
That stimulate the days
Give nature its praise
Restore balance to the space
Copyright© 2010 by PitchBlackGold Press
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