Skip to main content

50 - 50 : A POLL SATIRE

Inside machine's pouches
Level'd are both parties.
The scores now fifty each
Rais'd on the polling pitch.
Exit poll's deft study
Has held each win-ready.
Full votes count one zero one,
One will win if fifty one.

Now comes defining hero
After one zero zero,
Holding a flag-less mast
Very last vote to cast -
A one-zero-one years chap
Haggard, unkempt, deathly crap.
With two five-hundred notes,
Hero is now light of hopes.

Come both party men rushing,
Each lifts him by either wing.
Him they tug manic to bag
Like Kashmir by India and Pak,
Each with promises for moon
Even marriage and honeymoon.

Much like the lord of the ring,
Like all-powerful Mughal king,
The last-but-not-least man
Sinks to booth with elan.
With one stray look smart and canny
Presses button not seeing any...

A gaping silence gulps the noise
Under the gaze of the blinded eyes
As the terminator walks out witty :
Villain for fifty, victor for fifty.

                          -- N P Samal



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

KISS ME, PLEASE!

Woo-hoo...! Kisss you...u...u...u...??? Oh, I'm being frenzical !!! My slavering tongue is jerking fast And my quivering lips are pouting out With booms of kisses in the air -- Ummah...! Ummah...! Ummah...! Just yesterday, an okay got my promise. Today is the chance no way to miss. And ready is my basket with pecks, Lip-locks, French kisses, and other varieties... I'm also ready for the lizard kiss, And the kiss of the Spider man... And I'm sure I won't beg like Big B  -- (Juma, chumma de de chumma...), This is my right to kiss I earn'd this week. I shall kiss like one Dhoom 2's Hritthik-Aash's, Although I envy Emraan's 'Murderous' thriller kiss... I'm ready with my balmy lips, Strawberry flavour'd,  To be the biggest smoocher  Of do hazaar chhabees... And I have hidden the cracks  On my wintry lips  To save from rashes My Valentine's softy cheeks... Well with flushed up teeth, With cleaned up tongue, With exotic ...

TWENTY FIFTY : SONNET 187

 Twenty Fifty  Sonnet 187 Sapiens are closing in on twenty fifty, But know not what the year has kept for them; In their mind the ephemera's nest of history, So they can't see eternity's landing emblem; Nor can hear the brain's untold prediction,  That life'll fore'er be rid of the grip of death. Oh, wake up for the deathless New Creation, To say goodbye to death  do hold the wreath! The elixir's coat on Earth the year will lay, Whereupon one once born will live forever; The men of science are working night and day,  To create the world's supremest wonder. Just stay safe till the emergence of the Fountain; If you haven't died, you WILL be young again. ©️ N P Samal 

THE BATHROOM SINGER : SONNET 176

           The Bathroom Singer                        Sonnet 176 From the bathroom comes the voice and plays Around in many a number, gently touching Each lucky soul -- from youth to elder age -- With its enchanting notes of love and longing... But the singer wishes for no credit;  No listeners he does think to entertain, But him, alone, alone to suck each beat, Each tone, each pitch, each rhythm, each refrain, As the showery bathroom's walls replay His romantic, lovey-dovey numbers In the quiet hours each morn, each day In his cube-size happy universe... I doubt the man's self-entertaining soul If to amuse him, he has none in the Whole. ©️ N P Samal