Dr. Yogesh Sharma (1-7-1959 / india)
SONIA GANDHI-MOTHER OF ALL SCAMS
That white skinned straight hair of hers,
and the cool graced blue eyes,
Deep and mysterious,
Attracting power hungry thuds to hers!
It seems Indians fail their nation, Sweet;
and elected you as their leader true,
Ah, sticking still with you,
And you cheated on them with sour, Treat!
But you like a killer, only you know-
For power’s sake
Or your simpleton son’s sake,
Chased one scam after another, you know.
Cheaters took turn on you, all say-
You and your dear ones too,
full of mouth and bellies too,
all the faces rotten dear to you, all say.
All's your own, to loot the most of, Sweet-
Silence and silence for,
Coolly watching the power game for,
Keeps all to her family, Sweet!
But we love you, but, you would not, Sweet,
Though, we win you,
Elected you, brayed you
in hot and cold -for you could not, Sweet!
So, now discard the sweet face fondly there:
Be it ugly or beauty;
But now a burden and booty!
Faded all hope beyond, shattered dreams lie there!
And while the corrupt faces remain quiet there;
Expressing, dismay and wonder;
Nation plundered and all ponder,
a lesson? Never trust a stranger there.
As, -not one, but a long list foregone,
Panwar, Kalmadi, Gill, Dixit liking,
Tharoor, Hassan, Chavan, Raja striking
Robbing nation, -the states, we looked above for, gone!
Why, this beauty, needs there money be,
Thieves and robbers liking?
Crushing the honest -kings
in her armor, only live wealthy-bee?
2G, CWG, Adarsh, IPL are dear -sweet,
If they grow, I grow there;
No body touch my Swiss hold there,
All investigations are the cheek to dimples sweet?
My doing is so too perfect,
Justice System can’t mend it,
and so end all shouts and fits,
since my all creations perfect!
She is a kind in itself, perhaps,
Just near to perfection-
Never faces, harsh rejection;
Blessed by some corrupt God, perhaps?
Shall we get up, boot that face at once;
And so nothingness:
And enlighten our nation from at once?
Or else ready to die sticking on her?
Your wrong love-fancies!
-Even a sick man sees
Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!
When a gardener thinks to disgrace the rose, -
Plucks a bud before full -flower
For his corrupted gold bower,
No fine things can bloom that rose:
Patriotism, honesty, make its cup more rose,
Happy passion, -
Elect, some patriotic king to plant more rose!
Then how grace a nation? I know a way!
Don’t leave it, to strangers.
Must you yourself gather?
Smell, kiss, wear it-at last, and don’t throw away!
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