Monsters of London
As the Shadows danced
And the wind stole their warmth
It matters not
That they didn’t care
And now sadly we are here and cannot leave this place
It is not in their hearts to make you or anyone else a victim
But it is in their desire and passion and obsession to continue and work
A plot of gunpowder under the buildings of parliament
Show some courtesy to this vile and malevolence
A hundred Protestants burning alive by a motherless Queen
Poor freakish thing
With its monstrous imperfection
Indelicate as they may be
In the degraded state they had fallen or risen
That mutilated bodies were found on street corners
Ripped apart with surgical knives
The story of their falls
How dreadful for us to be so obsessed
Deeper pain, darker shame
Dear lady, dear sir.
Don’t we want to know about the six wives but mainly the ones who died?
Mainly the ones decapitated
One by sword one by axe
It renders me speechless, your delusional ignorance
That you can eat a meat pie without wondering what delicious moments when hope was lost
That the victims felt a knife across their throats
Power mad, the lot of them
That a rider can point a gun through open carriages
Stand and Deliver
Or of two princes locked in a tower by a hunchback uncle
And we gasp and smile with fascination from the gore and the blood
And what we remember are the monsters of London.
Written by Prishant Kaur Jutlla/ Blue-Fountain-Pen