Munch Bunch



They turned out well groomed
In defence of their honourable speaker
‘Her opponents are only selfish
Covetous of plum chairs in the house,’
She has the numbers they say
Like the honour among thieves,
Sycophants have given their verdict:
‘We acquit the tastes of our madam
And find Mr Procedure guilty!


They turned out well groomed
On a swagger of shame
Spewing injunction after injunction,
‘I am not the only thief,’ he brags,
‘And I am also a president!’
Will the broom of many colours
Sweep the shit off the umbrella?
Or will the rubber teeth of citizens
Endure the fart of these hyenas?



The Poem is a most elusive creature. It is like a child created by God and birthed through a woman. The poet is god and the reader is mother. Most good mothers do not throw away their babies irrespective of how they turn out. The poet cannot raise the child for the mother. The mother must raise the child. Some give up on their offsprings, some persevere. 
And the true poets can only watch from afar!