Thirlt

Bocht an selt, aye, noo we’re telt
Tae haud oor tongues, tae bide
Tongue-tackit an nae ging gabbin on
Aboot fit’s watter aneth the brig.

The past is but the past, they say,
Yet here’s wis noo, for noo’s the hoor
We feel the heat o ill-set coorseness lour.

This is fit it feels like on this shore
Or this hill or ben or on the next
Or doon the glen or narra strath
Or plouin sea or grun or in some cairt
Carryin gear or wi hauns an harns
Biggin themorra’s hullion fae empty foons.

Weel, Rabbie in his nation wis nae differ
Than wirsels in oors: mensefu neebours
Honourfu and leal, expectin honour’s return.

Scant favour came o’t then, an noo, still mair
Ken yer pairt; Haud yer wheest;
Be thankfu for sma mercy;
Ower wee, ower peer, ower goamless;
Sic bile comes teemin doon
Like blaudin rain.

Ah, but we’re jist the leavins
O a shilpit naitionheid,
Jist the servile orrals
O a folk nae mair required
An less respected.

There’s nae a word for’t,
Or nane that I maun spik,
For ae commonality o fowk
Tae come doon on ithers
As like they were tae
Gowks an coofs.

We were aa meant tae be the same:
Aa equals, men an weemen,
Aa Jock Tamson’s bairns, for aa that,
Aabody hyowin throu thegither,

Aye, Burns, on rank and preevilege,
Wis richt eneuch: the face on the bawbee
Bein but a face an the coin itsel
The thing o worth.

Na, but we are lang-selt as hirelings
For siller in the pooches o a curn lairds
Thirlt afore we had pit up a word on’t
Nor took sicht o the vocable or seal
That by obligement set oor fate.

© BH, 2018

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Somethin for Burns Nicht. Mindin on his ‘Parcel O Rogues’. Thinkin on foo the three-hunner ‘ear auld Union gaes on hi-jackin bits o’s even yet.

Bit o a rant; fit wye nae?

Now with an audio track I recorded for Carla Woodburn whose radio show 'Express Yourself' runs weekly on Glasgow's Sunny G Radio.