I can converse with demons

Today's substance is brick and mould, 
cement and iron bars, hives of wasps 
that’ve been long abandoned; 
the medium of time as it inevitably comes to pass. 
Apparatus is the will of man, 
and much fulfilled stock that upholds the conformist stance; 
the order then proceeds and establishes a firm of trade, 
of perpetual working slaves, who give in to monotony and procreate, 
serving the higher race. 
This is another addition to the sermon that becomes a chant, 
takes spontaneity from the indic arts, 
and is echoed in caves again, where only a single subject speaks, 
to the audiences of silhouettes upon the wall. 

"And we shall study today another great structural feat, 
which reaffirms expression and sacrificed space, 
which makes for long working hours 
for men that mould glass in dark-lit rooms with blown air, 
and those that become slaves in the day, under the sun, 
receiving a humbling wage, with no respect to say, 
they're made to venture off as the clock rings at mid-day, 
seek their lunch, after a morning spent in labour 
without water or sanitation or safety gear."

The building was structurally odd:
two flat sides adjoined to a curved wall, 
with height reaching to three storeys tall, 
several rooms, long hallways, crowded with people, 
costumed in worrisome masquerade.
"The birds probably lived in the central-park...",
hoarding hives and pipes nailed to the roof outside, 
effectively troubling both classes with which they ought to fare odds. 
The park was home to a couple trees that'd stayed shriveled for long,
daytime for these trees was sparse, 
along with water which was rarely poured, 
and yet they were condemned for not performing well, 
or providing shade when summer heat took the air. 

"Let's revise the plan again, two flat sides with three floors, 
and the quarter circled wall lacking the ground floor; 
wasps built their abode in the underside, 
and pigeons became pests that undid the assorted pipelines."

A subpar structure, that wasted space, on the curved side, 
and inside where the trees were placed, where light rarely came, 
and people ceased to be waiting for an escape to a better day, 
longing for a better age, 
fuelled by combusting their minimal wage into perpetual daze. 

"Many structures resembled this one in the complex, 
some had tombs in place of the park, 
and others with a grand entrance hall, 
built to accommodate the sick and unfortunate of four bustling states, 
that were orthodox, and equal parts desperate, and illiterate."

I was made to spend another day in study of this building,
but I spent much of my time on foot, pushing against the stock; 
walking in the unusual peace of the central-park, 
in seldom sun that had risen after forlorn winter,
being the strangest commoner around, 
seeking for concession of my silent demands, 
and for my emaciated state; 
blight in the thought that was once sacred space.

            27th February 2026
            Byangshar/Shabnam Sanzhi.