Conflicts rage to the clamour of voices –
words purged by action convey senseless murmurs.
The children of Mammon whisper sweet solace,
lost in the cries of despair.

Underground in the shelters they partied –
sometimes fashion required formal attire, other times
casual dress exposed the hidden anterior;
serene, the dancers performed transactions
to the rhythm of automatic fire.

This bright paradise floats calmly on waters
of peace, occasional ripples and cracks
betray something more than skin-deep.