There is the general alarm of voice.
The celestial-like song is turning into noise.
The green-decked hall is full of stuffy contention.
Currently unaware of runaway attention.
There is now a screeching sound from head to tail.
Swimming across is the smell of emotional blackmail.
A certain type of surrender is offered.
The annoyed ones are getting tougher.
The leader is doing the dance of mediocrity.
And hushed tones are screaming hypocrisy.
– Tokoni Uti
The above poem is set in a hall or auditorium where the poet-persona (myself) is being made to listen to a very boring speech. Most of the audience is uninterested (the annoyed ones are getting tougher) and the speaker himself doesn’t seem to care about what he is talking about (the leader is doing the dance of mediocrity).