Politicians
wring their fingers;
Flex
some muscle—
Comeuppance
in filling jails
Thereby
set rivals to win back.
Leave
not the turf for younger bench
No
one buys their clichéd cards;
Stay
on like night watchmen,
Volley
in double faults,
A
few of them would touch bases
In
prestigious pockets they scrape.
Each
one likes to score,
By
default lie to settle scores,
Galleries
will not eat arguments,
After
all they have to eat their words;
Now
here, our common man
Wishing
for the driver's seat
As
the elections are round the corner,
And
sooner drops the ball dead in vote banks.
No
one dares in democracy.
They
only jump to conclusions,
Ruling
statesmen least confronting.
They
only fly off the handle.
They
carry things to the far boundary,
Oppositions
may flash Red
For
penalty-- in the face of forum umpires
Only
dodge their responsibility.
The
browser wishing for a break—
I
push my luck with a mouse click.
No comments:
Post a Comment