Victory on the Beach

 

Like sandcastles on a beach, 

Swept away, soon out of reach;

The waves decide - the fate of the grains. 

These manmade shelters of grey and brown,

Ruined, violated, haunted mega towns, 

Of crumbling roads and decrepit, lonely lanes…

A reminder of what was promised, what could have been; 

The present scenario mismatched with the imagined scene; 

The politics of preservation only focuses on the chair…

When the campaign is over, and the dust has settled, 

When the blackish mud has covered your sycophantic petals; 

Those spoken vows fade away, once the podiums are bare…

And power is won on the back of the ‘need-more’; 

The window of hope closed, to be shown the exit door. 

‘You’re on your own’ a whisper now defines the voice… 

Elections that yield not a representative, but a king, 

Or a queen who favours constant winter over spring… 

This folly is now fulfilled, this illusion of choice. 

The option to choose between a temple or a dole, 

Not a word to be spoken of the lives and the livelihoods they stole; 

Mere pawns in the passionate pursuit of power.  

As the days go by, and the four pillars fall, 

The Dim-witted and lacklustre adorn the hallowed halls; 

No less than a revolution to tear down this tower… 

Of corruption, of hate, and pretty-worded void; 

To incinerate the opaque, to spill the wine that cloyed. 

No victory to be found on a beach of sheep… 

The ball and chain around the ankles, still  groan; 

The sandcastles pretend they’re steady, enforced, stones; 

With the power to send waves back to the deep. 

A wolf may be defeated by mere wool of white, 

When the eyes of the masses shun darkness; choose light…