Call of the Bright Lights

By Lynn Ockersz

In the distressed Isle,

The people’s cry for Bread,

Rises to a stirring crescendo,

But the Sires at the helm,

Prefer to be girded with Guns,

Eyes glued on the fiscal balance,

But in the city’s theatres of fame,

The Lights refuse to go out,

Where artistes of the scarred land,

Continue to give of their best….

The proverbial Manna are they,

In the scorching cultural desert.