by Banuk
Tonight, I taste something sweet
I hear some good beat
Thump, thump, thumpin’!
Boy, do I feel the heat!
Words prosaic and poetic are precarious,
but that’s okay, anyway I do not want them precious.
I, too, do not want to be cautious.
What I want is to be drunkenly nauseous!
It’s probably Kerouac I hear chantin’
Calling me to burn baby, burn, burnin’!
Fear no crushin’
Keep on crashin’ and burnin’!”
It’s probably the old Beatniks chantin’
Bam! Bam! Listen to the poets slammin’
But probably not. The old Beatniks are dead.
This beat I hear is nothing but the silence in my head.
A silence born out of my own generation’s beat
The silent apathy and the longing I hear clearly
the rhythm of the slackers' collective bitterness,
I hear the melody of a past so sad and grand,
While I jam to the present’s fleeting demand
Songs about better tomorrow by the newest boy band
Singin' world peace is only possible when we join hand-in-hand
When I listen to my generation's silent beat, I fear.
I fear for the unborn children I may or may never have.
I will name one of them Gaia, and her sister will be Naia.
Names so fresh and young, so organic and earthly.
These names, I will give to them;
for names might be the only thing left to give.
For when I listen to my generation's silent beat, I fear.
I fear for the earth,
For my unborn children,
For equality and justice;
for liberty and all these crises.
I fear for good fresh foods and authenticity.
All these consumed goods bring nothing but toxicity.
We gotta change our attitudes and heed for simplicity.
I fear this and that.
I rant shit about that and this.
I hope for things and that.
But what does it matter?
Do you care, brother?
Will you sing, sister?
Sing with us this collective beat?
The beat of our own generation’s silent heat.