Wooden Spoons, Lead Boots Poem by Kewal Paigankar

This is a bad time
To be a child of 2009
Those newly born
Those waiting to be born
And those who will arrive late
As the clocks wind down
To the sound of Big Ben
Ticking, on New Year’s Eve to 11.59.

They are the future generation
Of a once proud nation.
But they are not born
With the blessing of a silver spoon.
It will take them time
Perhaps many years to realise
How they will spend their adult years
Paying for the folly and extravagance
Of those who have long left the centre stage.

The children will become adults
Trying to reach the corporate ladder
Or make an individual mark
In the big world stretching ahead of them;
But their feet are tied
By lead weight around their ankles
Dragging them down again and again
As the sums rise to an Everest of a mountain.

They are the victims of other people’s greed
Reckless spending and imprudent dealing.
The public coffers are dwindling
Diminishing by the hour and second
As the older generation makes rightful demands
Along with those who are state dependants
On the nation’s finite reserves and munificence.
Our doors are thrown open, unmanned and unguarded
For outsiders to bolster our resources
Or swell the numbers of benefit claimants.

Children of 2009, don’t grow into adults.
You will be plundered and robbed
Taken apart, layer by layer, tissue by tissue
Till your surrender is complete.
You will have no freedom, no choice
No chance to plan or control your future.
You will be a number, your destiny pre-ordained
To pay for the indiscretions and largesse
Of the nincompoops who have long departed.

Stay in your bubble, children of 2009
Remain perpetual children, wrapped in innocence.
You wouldn’t understand the figures and numbers
Millions, billions, trillions and zillions…..
The zeroes keep adding on;
Adults and experts are staggered by it
Even with the benefit of higher education
Just as the last child is born, in 2009.