The Silver Cloud : A Poem for the Election Heat
With the onset of elections, the hopes of millions around the globe have once again been stirred. Will it be this man/woman who turns out to be the solution to their problems; a person who'd think of the land more than its riches? A question that we all ask ourselves everytime, to be disappointed in turn of course. What constitutes a true leader? What sets him/her apart from the rest and elevates the revered position of power because of his/her merit alone?
Drops of tears, sweat and spit
Swirl in a broken bowl so deep,
Harrowing heat embraces the pit,
The sweltering unified struggle to leap.
All drops in groups then arise,
The cloud they form remains afloat,
Their limbs and hopes become his dais,
Fame, money and power he would court.
O’er their anguish he thunders,
Forgotten limbs lay bleeding below
Unseeing, on new horizon slumbers
His closed eyes’ command never mellow
With time he grows darker still,
Their clear hopes dashed all in black,
He chuckles in joy of fortune tilled
Dreaming of never showering back.
A silver cloud they hope to see
On heaps of grief, hunger and pain
One blessed enough to be the key
To success, joy and riches again.
Though seasons change without a sign,
They lay in wait of the pewter pal
All so patient, about the bowl align
At the sign of every groomed cad.