Roman

Romans and roamers are not meant to be lovers.
One is meant to build cities the other will flee;
Try and elope, and you will find yourself prey,
No country exists for the fiend.

There is neither relief in the valley nor any bollard in harbour,
Who do you think burnt those houses down?
Concrete and Julian are thorough creatures,
Vicious, snarling hounds.

They shall construct aqueducts to your soul,
Judge, and execute retribution.
As for your head,
The cannons will lay siege to your constitution.

Romans and roamers are not meant to have sex.
But there will always be a baron sat in his winter garden,
Preening himself on his conquests.

You are not seeded, keep your hands off the board!
Thou shalt learn to pray when you are scrubbing the floors.

And do not say what you know, for it is nothing.
Be grateful for that which you lease,
Their descendants are cradled in wrought iron and bilinga,
You are just down from the trees.

These commandments are divine and so true;
Defy and they will charge you with jihad.
So if you light her cigarette, muster up your last breath,
To cry, “Vaseline Zindabad!”

For your skin will flake in your nikes and everlasts;
With each nazam, your lips will crack,
While they wax enraptured, “Hercules! Bacchus!”
— then curse you behind your back.

You are only useful if you are dancing.
So do not go learning any missteps
That’ll turn your corner shops into headquarters
For lunch pail scholars, worms, and defects.

By virtue of kindness,
You are a neighbour not an equal.
Do not defile these streets with your passions,
These neighbourhoods are for respectable people.

Romans and roamers are not meant to be friends.
Only speak when spoken to and do not shake hands,
Careful where your eyes land.

Romans and roamers are meant to be at war.
One is meant to kill
The other is to die.
But I,
I fell for a roman.
I bought her wine;
I bought her a chicken dinner,
Yes, she placed her hands in mine.
And we violated the rules of these streets,
Walking arm-in-arm
Be my guest!
Sound the alarm!

You built your lies on shaky ground,
For your fear knows no dearth.
I have walked out there!
What is a room to a cave?
What is a city to the earth?

She loved me and I loved her,
On your ramparts and in the square,
At your parties and on the sofas,
In your throne room and house of prayer.

In your assault, you misread your foe.
So look me in the eye and extend
An arm, for then you will realise,
Brother, I am your only friend.

After all,
We are both the scions of Aeneas;
You cannot kill the Indian and save the man!
I am a-roamin, re:conqueror.