What the Poor Think of the Rich

Bourgeoisie
are fragrance of incense, and heat of glowing candle lights behind towering blockades of concrete.


Bourgeoisie
are halcyon days knowing no end in sight. Entitled for the transcendent
in expense of Lazarus' blood and sweat,
perpetually blinded by gold they discriminate what is diamond for the great unwashed


Bourgeoisie
are spares of newly minted coins, left in tin cans to pacify the street's cries.


Bourgeoisie
are masters of time and realtors of desire; temptresses behind the Messiah's cloak—
         weaved with strings of prayers flowing out
         of every matriarch's lips;
         As her blackened knees scrape the
         tiles of Quiapo,
         willing her silent pleas to echo louder
         than the chaos beyond the house of the Lord.


Bourgeoisie
are givers with conditions. A smile for your labor, a tip for your thoughts.
What's mine is theirs as long as it's free of filth.
What's theirs is theirs alone,
as if the trees in Forbes give a different air
that would get sullied if I breathe it in and out of my plebian lungs.
Nothing but pack of wolves with frozen hearts
intimidating the impecunious with sharp canine teeth,
to conceal the ticker on their chest
which sings at the same tempo as mine.


Bourgeoisie
are mumbled curses behind gritted teeth. Empowering and limiting the human dignity.
Horrid puppeteers that tug on the strings of legislation and jurisdiction to their favor,
trapping lowly marionettes with malicious troths.


Bourgeoisie
are lonely royalty. Indecisive. Ignorant. Pawns of reality. They,


those bourgeoisie,


in their unstained revolutionary uniforms, uncalloused hands and untarnished reputations,
accuse us—

the unsung warriors—


of not understanding the implications of ignorance,
missing the story behind every breath,
diluting the beauty of perishing for freedom and justice,
when generation after generation they only
glorify their names with odes they wrote with the blood of those who fought.


Bourgeoisie,
the destined leaders,
have failed to lead the people into emancipation and grace.
They reinforce arbitrary lines between them and us,
relishing the privilege granted to them by birth lottery,
and mocking us with the insecurities dangling over our heads.