|Friday, May 4, 2018|
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
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.