The Fruit Of Recession Poem by Binu Mathew

This recession, not my creation nor my father’s
Like a pandemic that hit the world with great magnitude,
And turned millions in shaky firms to good actors
Lest they be one of the unfortunate multitude.

It was an act, blind and brazen that forced him to flee
With his shattered dreams and battered mind,
The last victim of that ‘play’ clumsily manoeuvred by thee
And the men of your hotch-potch team of a different kind.

The sweets he gave at parting were cannons and words ammunition
For the growing strength of your countless foes,
Fed up by your sardonic style and absurd admonition
Who never cares about their welfare nor heed their woes.

Spare not thou, the wrath of the Almighty Lord!
And the curse of the victims slain by your sword,
You soulless sage, to Him you are accountable
For your devilish deeds uncountable.

Hold your horses and the firing cease.
Let’s join hands and fight the enemy with ease
That’s nothing but this hapless situation,
Not anyone’s misdeeds but just the time’s creation.

Release the captives from their chains
And bind them to your heart for some gains,
To lead us and this firm to prosperity
And for good annals to read for the posterity.