The Game Poem by Payal Priya
The Game
An unfair tug of war, always biased,
Between the subjects and their gaint king
One stout and tall, gigantic and potbellied
Other scarcely alive with visible ribs.
Isn't is easy to guess who will win?
The gaint king throws a loaf of bread,
The subjects fight killing their own comrades.
The votes declares the eternal victory
Singing panegyrics of our great democracy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 9:52:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
