To The President Poem by Mukesh Raval

Thou art not born Dhrutrashtra same,
Not by the eyes, but the mortal game;
Makes thee impotent to behold
And makest thee fool and cold.

Beware thee of thy own hands,
it looks straight but bends;
And bends to suck, thou don’t know,
The sacred blood of shrine, oh!

Thy senators not thou trust
Betray thee they with may and must;
Thou art seduced like the virgin Eve,
As the poisonous nectar in a sieve.

I writ thee thus not to hurt,
But to warn and clean thy vision blurt;
Nabobs never trusted the folk around,
Never they flew but stuck to ground,

Thou hast wings but not the sky,
Not to fly old man not to fly;
Gravest folly thou commit by
Placing thy pride afloat on.why?

The saint peter dogs you pet to save,
Are wolfs with sharpest teeth and brave;
Beware thou of the dagger that ended,
Mighty Caesar and dug his grave.

Thou hast garlanded a hound nay ye know,
More lunatic than science and law;
Chew would he thine soul and drag thou
in the darkest grave of the raw.

Three things thou art warned to make,
Remove the veil, give wings a shake;
If thou be able to get through this,
Thy land will shine and lads in bliss.

Thou wouldst wrong thy land,
If thou mayest live with this pang;
And spoil thou thy last days,
Burn thou thy ears in the ways.

I pray thee lord to open thy eyes,
Think thou the best and be wise;
Old English I use and allegory to hide,
Trust thy worth spread deep and wide.

Time is not a fool but shows
The height of lunacy and blows,
Such wounds which never soothe, never soothe,
never soothe…………