Letter to our deaf father of the nation: “Mr. Dict….”

Let the olive leaves rain!
Let everyone take
His own eyes and feast on you snake
Brook and make
Way for the rain,

Change

Master of mischief and ingratitude!

O, Mr. D…!
You think your life thorny,
For we dare think,
Speak,
Write and act… songs
To right your wrongs!

O, Mr. D… every hour
With adoration we greet your
Gallows popping up in the manner
Of mushrooms
At every street corner
With zeal hungering for us like grooms

Their brides,

And we ask for no doom
But our rights,
Our birth rights!

And quest if you’re a mushroom
Eating champion
To scheme such reprobation
As never did any power trickster
Even to his own hamster!

You erect in our country
Such gallows as the tallest tree
Would never match
And on which our rights are bashed

Diurnal and nocturnal!

We having just one never to end a journal!

Seeing you harpoon all those rights,
Those of our republic,
Those of your republic,
Those even defined by others
As being human;
And even our birth right
To live,
Love,
Think,
Speak,
write,
Act
And
Die
Freely
Just as you live
And
Will die live
(And Miserably
Too!)
Thank and thank your god
We have heads and will not
Help, help you
Abridge your affliction
Pushing us into the heights of tribulation….!

Nudging you to the head
We thought you had a head
We thought you knew what rights
Were ours
And which were yours…!
Foreseeing no plights,
We thought the bright gaze
On your face
[A new page!]
Replicated some goodness
In you concealed!
We now know your head as empty
As the bellies of our fellow human beings
‘Littering’ your streets
& wanting in food and water;
We know it emptier
Than the calabash of that
Desert Wanderer whose thirst
Harried him to you
And you ushered him
To the garrotte chamber!
Breaching the Contract!

Knowing that shimmering seal’s
Face, the rot in you conceals
We would…
Not in the woods…
Hoot you down!

Step down, renege the crown
To hap your way under
As we
With our thorny
Life of misery …

Do!

Do, bury your mulishness!