The signs of these times,
Are all over the place.
They have been there for decades.
Now today someone is sought to blame.
The signs of these times,
Are all over the place.
They have been there for decades.
Now today someone is sought to blame.
The revolving door remains the same.
Those who push are followed,
And those following are themselves also pushed,
To reap from a sowed calamity.
The kind no one remembers implementing.
The kind that sat uninvolved but irritated.
The kind that becomes argumentative,
To state opinion upon unresearched facts.
The kind whose lips flap.
The signs of these times,
Are all over the place.
They have been there for decades.
Now today someone is sought to blame.
The revolving door remains the same.
Those who push are followed,
And those following are themselves also pushed,
To reap from a sowed calamity.
The kind no one remembers implementing.
The kind that becomes argumentative,
To state opinion upon unresearched facts.
The kind whose lips flap.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem