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6 Uprising Absent-mindedness in their looks, siesta time for others, for what is there to discuss? only to start and join the others already clapping. Some - children - vying for the lens with lips curled in slovenly smiles mistaken for the philosophical pose; heads nodding like fallen lizards, as if the point struck home, fawning curs. And then folders are folded, the end or a session. RUBBER-STAMPS! Quite a Deal Traitors! Demagogues! Bla roads, bla money, bla high living standards. But before this midwife takes his turn on duty, realisation strikes home. Midwife - sincerely I'm but a killer; Poverty, starvation, soldiers about me, coats of mail for I'm frightened by the idea of death. Illusions of a guilt-ridden mind: memories of a dying village - natural memories of dying children - no drugs, memories of starving families - no money, promises all down the drain. Yet like a colossus I stand with convoluted jowls dripping foreign account numbers; to sell my house and squander the cash under the rain. ...

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