Plato's Children Poem by Kewal Paigankar

A whiff of pungent air
At once corrupt and contagious
Spreads throughout these corridors
Of the citadel
Known as the Palace of Westminster.
Here, our representatives and legislators
Debate on issues affecting our future
Briefly pausing, before finding ingenious ways
Of siphoning the infinite riches
Flowing from the public purse.


They are waiting on platform
Briefcases filled with expenses forms
To board the executive train
Dripping with extravagant gifts and largesse
Served on silver trays, fine cutlery, embossed napkins
Generously provided for by gullible fools.
Swimming pools, dry rot
Expensive linen, plush carpet
Plasma TV, bath plugs
All in a day’s work
For your elected, deluded Member of Parliament.


There is no contrition
Or a sense of remorse
Only conceit and arrogance
At the fall from grace.


They should remember Plato’s words
When alone in a cell
Atoning for their sins
Repeating before the altar of democracy
Public service is not a gravy train
But an occupation without personal gain
While repenting on the ruins of the temple
They have brought down
Only for it to rise again.