Poetry

The Elections

The tension is over, the voters relaxed.

The counting reveals the attack.

Grave and bitter, the tables turn.

As all do wonder how they’ve twirled!

Spinners and bouncers of the cricket pitch,

have finally diced the ten year itch.

Thumping, kicking, hurling abuse,

tearing apart the sleeping muse.

To top it all the whimsical acclaimed,

they were born to rule,

the innocent tools.

The voters smart and disillusioned,

sang praises of those that were in places.

Cut and throw, slice to grow,

came the whispers in a row.

One and all, behold them all,

see them hibernate in their fall!

                                                                       ~Dr. Shobha Diwakar

                                                                Jabalpur, India

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