The stolid Sky and pompous Sun
Look at weapon and the Gun,
Vandalizing public property
So ruthlessly as if it were fun.
The Tyrant is cozy in his den
As poor lye in a fen.
Hoping for the judgment day
While holding to a note of ten.
The nursling party of the Chief
Unlike an impotent thief
Impenitently purloins poor,
Hallowing the city with infinite grief.
The despot laughs in a room so warm
At virtue, morality and the norm.
But the final weapon is in our hands.
We howl so loud and stamp the form!
--Written By: Ammara Khan
1 comment:
A Very true depiction of the intended situation.
We, indeed, stamped the form, But the tyrants are still laughing at virtu, morality and norms.
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