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Monday, 5 July 2010

Separated at Birth

Bureaucrats and the Blue colour worker..
A mutual hate for each other..
Brothers of the same blood..

Sworn for eternity to be enemies..
Death before dishonour..
Both in pride in guild of the three masons..
For which they pledge in High Esteem..

While the bureaucrat’s hates..
The dirt on the shoes of the blue colour worker..
And his love for jeans, overalls and hard hats..
He gallantly parades as working clothes..

The blue colour worker hates the bureaucrat's..
Latte and Starbucks coffee..
With scuffling, tie and Italian shoes to match..
And the bossy, bossy attitude, he bears in second nature..

On the battlefields of Napoleon's wars..
They chant out loud, in Waterloo, to the forest ears awakened..
It's a man's life and dirt on my shoes, proof of my grit;..
It is the love for the trade, to have built, brick to brick..
Strength in numbers union rep..

Brains over brawns; why if I can pay to get it done..
I see a little dirt on my shoes, in allergies reaction..
Call Joe the plumber to fix my tap..
And my lawyer seats in wait, a phone call away..

Twins, best friends, brothers of one blood..
Play ground alliance, batman and robin..
Separated by their chosen path..
In roads of life, in guild of skills, in trading places..

Today, they stand facing each other, for pride and glory..
The hate is visible in body language, as their worlds meet..
At junctions where one ends and the other begins..

In meeting's pleasantries, walks around and show around..
The bosses, will be visiting our patch today.. 
The money men, in suits and Italian shoes..

Long have they forgotten, what it was, when it was..
When they were separated at birth..
On football fields, of dreams ambitions..

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