Friday, May 4, 2018
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ewatch as the weavers of political fantasy

takethe center stage,

andthrough careful choice of words,

theycolonise the mental territory of the citizens.

Theythen create voids in their minds

andproceed cleverly to beguile them

withtheir honeyed eloquence.

Theirspeeches convert the citizens into tendrils

that cleave unto them,

Theirminds have strayed beyond recall.

Electoratesare promised that a modern bridge

wouldbe constructed across a river

thatdoes not exist,

andtheir neglected, dilapidated roads

tarredwith a mixture of asphalt and gold,

theirdomestic taps would flow with beer.

Apot of gold waits at the end of the rainbow.

Alldelivered in political syllables.

Softlyswaying citizens offer their thump up salute

forthe sugar-coated speech.





Thevoting day beckons,

andthey troop out en mass

underthe scotching heat of the sun,

tocast their votes for the candidates,

whohas conscripted their conscience

withthe hope that they turn around the ruins

ofthe past, and brings about a change

thatwould quell their misery.

Greatexpectation, as their once fertile brain

havegone bereft.



Andafter the election is done,

theirhope takes refuge

intheir frozen bodies,

wherethey suffer formidable sorrow

proportionateto their mistake,

andtheir tears remain endless

asthe Nightingale’s anguish song.

Whata political game, whereverbal mask

disguisesa cool self interest!

Iadmire the kingdom of the fox, notthat of the sheep.