Crowd of the Forgotten
Shoe-soles slap the dust—
market women chant in rage,
babies strapped like shields.
"Manipulation!"
They scream at billboards' perfume, with a damning scents, calling, yelling at the system of coffee shows
"Stop spraying our minds!"
Stampede is the law—
a thousand knees crushed for rice, that grain in the grass,
yet they clap on screens.