3rd November 2020 Poem by M S Newhadney

It is said almost every day and each day
My destiny depends on a special day:
3rd November 2020
When Democritus doubts not on democracy
When election erects with remarkable accuracy
When people finally give up their obstinacy
But I live in an eastern Wasteland
Which can never turn into a real dreamland
No one here cheers to see blossom of fine flowers
No one wears natural daisy chain
Conversely, prefers nothing in rain
I am banned to be a man with valid visa
To be able to grant death kiss to my Lisa
So why am I destined to that special day?
Which can't keep the doctor away
In the midst of massive brain drain
I've still maintained a tiny layer of my brain
In the midst of fantastic sea coast heartbroken
I've still retained my heart beating by the same token
In the midst of the mass losing their human emotion
I've still sustained my delicate beauty of motion
- Prettier than Dega's dancing girls -

So why am I destined to that special day?
Which is located from me so far away
"It is a united world! Poor poet!
Flight of a butterfly in the west
Can cause terrible tornado in the east"
Said Leviathan looking down in disdain
When the sky was sending black rain
I have to grin and bear it
No matter even if I care it
No choice but to adopt the doomed destiny
Even if I find myself with a lot of agony
That way I am destined to: 3rd November 2020.