The Tainted that makes me abhor, The Torn I cringe at The Sick whom I repugn ,The felon I condemn The sinister I ward off, The corrupt I agonize Are the souls of the ones , Oh surprise! I give my assent , On The ballot sheet of mine.
Oh Pathetic me! Do I know not, the weight of this small sheet? Or do I see not The fate of the country that awaits After this ballot sheet of mine, reaches its terminus …
if only I had the prudence ,the insight to tell apart wrong and right But it’s difficult . . . Too difficult to resist The bribe of bliss, though momentary.
So I choose The tainted, the torn The sick, the felon The sinister, the corrupt Again and again . . . On this ballot sheet of mine.
Poet’s Note – It is basically a satirical write-up. Ridicules the routes taken up by the contenders in white’ kurtas’ to boost-up their vote banks, and moreover, the examiners-the people- who allow it to happen!
Lost delights of mine, leave me not in unknown ways And all of our dandled days in my fortune’s hand Winder cold wails the wrong of death delays When cold wind blows into my desert sands She has turned within
Absent deliberate intervention vis a vis suicide, supposed “natural” longevity of generic human primate ride ding bareback across avast broke back mountain minus pride defies accurate prediction, though hypothetical projections can override unknown factors, whereby excluding misfortune nationwide (and/or globally
Blood was in season, on your hands. A staged encounter mauling the clouds. Into a hare, you put the lead with a roar of gun and sun wants his share. Beneath the honours lies the guilt of a ravaged moon.