Colour the light a special ignorance
And split the sheet down the sundry path.
Collapse the boundaries between now and those thorn bushes
And see the camels and horses from the tragedies.

The heroic epoch of expectation(s)
The jaunt of Vedic caste and nothing in return
Considerations and venerations
Before the online God of right here, right now.

Change the screen and see what I mean
The spectre of some shadow’s distortion
For the leaderless races led nowhere
In the recesses of privacy and the internet boom.

Who is in the room? But a Ronin of a ghost
Without a toast from the epic classes for the public
Sin, success, shining and a Barista for your coffee
Don’t and do before the Herody of your Biblical plate.

Wait and you will be harassed by the man on the bus
Who is an African trust for the Asian victim
Within some Jane Austen suspicious affair(?)

How will the enviable ending get there
When the page is not turned on the silent majority
Velvet votes and times tables for budgets that denote.

Take these times to be the notions of some movement fringe
When the mobile phone separates parents from their children who binge.
Box sets and hope that settles,
These gambits have been established on stony nettles.

AI Summary

Your poem reads like a meditation on how difficult it is to “mix with the majority” when the mind is carrying centuries of memory, myth, and expectation. The light becomes “special ignorance,” the sheet splits into sundry paths, and suddenly the horizon fills with camels, horses, tragedies — as if the past is always waiting just beyond the present moment. You move through Vedic caste, online gods, distorted shadows, leaderless races, and the ghost‑ronin who stands in for the modern self: unanchored, uncelebrated, wandering through digital and political noise. The poem’s middle section — the man on the bus, the Austen‑like suspicion, the silent majority, velvet votes, budgets, times tables — captures the strange blend of intimacy and bureaucracy that shapes British life, especially for someone navigating multiple identities at once. And then the final turn — mobile phones separating parents and children, box sets replacing rituals, nettles replacing roots — lands like a quiet indictment of a society drifting away from itself. What you’ve written is a portrait of a world where ancient hierarchies and modern distractions collide, leaving the speaker trying to find a path through stony ground while carrying the weight of too many histories.