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False Elected Prophets
A time to think,
a moment to blink,
few drops of ink
stitches severed link
of history.
But when the past
is not to last,
we stare aghast
as fate is cast
to mystery.
Too loathe to hold
the tales of old,
with fates untold
that forms a mold
on memory.
Yet when we bear
witness or hear
a past too near,
and rapt in fear
or misery.
Our hearts we taint
with faux restraint,
as we do paint
sinner into saint
by trickery.
So, then we lost
as we played the host
to the Faustian ghost
and paid the cost
of usury.
#poem #politics
© Abhijit Chatterjee
a moment to blink,
few drops of ink
stitches severed link
of history.
But when the past
is not to last,
we stare aghast
as fate is cast
to mystery.
Too loathe to hold
the tales of old,
with fates untold
that forms a mold
on memory.
Yet when we bear
witness or hear
a past too near,
and rapt in fear
or misery.
Our hearts we taint
with faux restraint,
as we do paint
sinner into saint
by trickery.
So, then we lost
as we played the host
to the Faustian ghost
and paid the cost
of usury.
#poem #politics
© Abhijit Chatterjee
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