Wednesday, February 6, 2019
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ee them,
the weavers
of political fantasy,
as they drive along
darkened backyard lane at night;
the road to craft cock-fight strategy.



And the midnight sun is ready
to collude with their backstairs intrigues.


The political gimmick
of whitewashing the guilty
and blackmailing the innocent
will soon become an history.
The promise to construct a bridge
over a river that is non existence
is yet to be executed.


The campaign promise
of tarring dilapidated roads
with a mixture of asphalt and gold
must now give way
to ballot box stuffing
and other chicanery.



I have seen where dirty politics
disguised as the law
mounts guard outside the polling booth
and a mercenary
posed as the judge and jury.


But worried citizens,
whose reasons
govern their emotion ask:
how many voters will get lost
in affray or melee
engineered by political tugs
with no surnames and fixed abode?



And I stop sipping my black coffee
and pose this question:
Should optimism prevails over pessimism,
will the new president elect
be willing to substitute personal fiat
with institution decision making
and permit the rule of law
to flower and blossom like the May flower,
or banish the pretty political variables
to the remote, dusty and dark cellars
of political archive?
Would it not create the dawn
for Gotterdammerung?