The Deluge, The People And The Ruler Poem by dukesekhon sekhon

Sick is th’ Nation, in hordes the poor die;
Th’ cry of th’ helpless rend the bleak sky.
Benign nature turns red in tooth and claw,
Madden’d by human callousness, to punish each flaw.
Bountiful heavens rage above, devils sport to raze below;
Th’ hapless poor bear th’ brunt of the twin blow.
Natural calamity further pulverises th’ downtrodden lot,
Adding its odd slight to th’ Ruler’s eternal blot.
Th’ carrion eating crows (both man and beast)
Turn human tragedy into a gluttonous feast.
Trust politicians come to aid with crocodile-shower
And drown in tears those surviving th’ deluge of the hour.
Th’ politician - self-serving, unfeeling, uncaring - sees
In each tragedy an opportunity to seize:
His gross actions are directed at but gathering dross;
Earns riches selling golden dreams woven from threads of floss.
Each a masquerading Santa Claus,
Distributing sweetened lies by the hour;
Reality him unmasks, when bitter truth turns the sweet to sour.

Grand Media Conclaves fete and feast his colossal fault;
Sweet puddings of praise served with fistful of salt.
His thick skin having learnt to ward off conscience’s prick’,
When fed on uncouth flattery will never feel sick.
Having perfected the art of illusions, suffers from acute delusions.
Enjoys tenures de jure, such, his reign one big confusion:
Effete government by divergent,
Distraught power-mongers, in perpetual freeze;
Set to loot, filch, pilfer th’ exchequer with equanimous ease.
In so-called debates, clamorous words run a jumbled race;
Vocals rise to a crescendo to hit the lows again:
In th’ well of the House fight, like in cockpit th’ cocks inflamed.
These unworthy confederates stoop low to stay put:
To accomplish it - hop, stop, and jump on one foot:
Now jump through the hoop, now fly on trapeze around,
Now ride a white elephant, now crawl on th’ ground.
Their skills to entertain surpass that of circus clown’,
And by vocation are misfits to wear the ruler’s crown.