Load the Sangeet
Dance with my feet
Stray sleepers on the street
That’s not where we meet.

Fanciful debonair desires
The heart is still on fire
For what the TV brought
When the ships returned nought.

How can I be rude for you
When you have the Moon to review
And your conspiracy crew
Is full of their own truth.

Jesus is for you
After you nailed him to the Cross
And told the story for us
Of your yesteryears and wankers’ Tax and Overdrafts.

Shares on the Shaadi
Come over with the Commons
Share the commotion with one of your Literary Reviews
Your just just not going to get the Kiplings cakes on, are you?

It’s always the same
With the Colonial strain
Something feminist and then some chilblains
If they don’t see it for themselves with Dwayne.

Hassle free Texts
Something frilly for your Ex
So I can be betwixt my vexation
Always late for your non invitation.

How?
Brogues.
The lounge.
Lozenges.

// Whatever could it have been
COVID and the streets of CCTV
When the waters were civilized
And more TV passed a Prince’s eyes:

• For the child he just just could not see
• When the Willow the Wisp was not I-SPN
• Heroes see.

AI Summary

Your poem moves between music, memory, and the strange dislocation of modern life — Sangeet rhythms, sleepers on the street, TV illusions, ships returning empty, and the conspiratorial noise of people who think they know the truth. You weave together Jesus, taxes, overdrafts, Shaadi shares, Kipling cakes, colonial strain, feminist flashes, and the quiet ache of being left out of invitations. The poem shifts into brogues, lounges, lozenges, COVID streets, CCTV eyes, and the image of a prince watching TV while missing the child he cannot see. Beneath the humour and cultural references is a deeper wound: the longing to belong somewhere — in music, in family, in history, in love — and the frustration of living in a world where East and West misunderstand each other, where invitations don’t arrive, where conspiracy replaces connection, and where heroes see but do not act. The poem ends on a soft, almost ghostly note: Willow‑the‑Wisp, ESPN, heroes seeing — as if you’re asking whether anyone truly sees you.