We met on the train last Saturday
and had a long conversation.
But after you’d reached your stop
I lost your contact information.
I would like to meet again,
who could help me in my search?
I recall you were either a Member of the European Parliament
or a priest in the Roman Catholic Church
I remember your great belief
In ideals of a by-gone age.
Discarded as old fashioned
most others left that stage
reciting the old liturgy
of solidarity and fair share,
of suffering and giving shelter,
of dividing the burden to bear.
There was something of a charter
it was perfect in your eyes
even though it’s widely known
man had altered it a many times.
Inside there were some chapters
and numbered verses too,
telling us the Grand Idea
of what and where and who.
Your business was making
the highest law men’s creed
applying to all peoples
to which all nations should concede
no escape and no excuses.
It all went well until
the people came complaining,
well, what about our free will?
Talking to your followers
was becoming harder every day
and the conduct of your leaders
is scaring the remaining few away.
Refusing to convict their own,
some were rotten to the core,
everywhere you turn to look
there’s cover-ups galore.
The big boss, the high chief
Something starting with a P-
Was it pope or president?
a bland figure he should be,
not too outspoken nor demanding
Or trouble would we see,
talk of seceding and revolting.
Still, no acceptance of a divorcee.
Yes, Britain was the first to leave,
it made you lose control.
You let out some foul words
and called them traitors, all.
You said you’d like to have them thrashed
or perhaps see their leaders in the stocks.
At a point I even heard you
wishing for a new Guy Fawkes.
You wondered who’ll be next
but it seems I’m the unlucky one.
Whether you’re a priest,
an MEP, or both, or none.
I hope this message reaches you.
For now I wish you well
and hope that you will contact me
This Spraakwater poem was written by Matthijs Bonvanie