Weather Report On Election Day
(with due respect to democracy)
Temperature, suspeciously, to remain the same,
Everyday, in the land of dead, from this day on.
Mercury will stay at sub-zero level,
And will diminish further below,
While gods recline in warm sunshine,
In abodes above, carefree and unconcerned
About souls whose fates are locked
In electronic voting machines, for five more years.
In their freshly painted thrones, the new weather gods
Will conspire with ghosts of old gods and exchange masks
Of rats and wolfs in carnivorous orgies, raising
Glasses of blood-wine with bites of roasted hearts,
Whose hopes had been maimed with indelible ink.
And the scale will sink to the bottom,
Like a rugged iceberg-mountain, senseless and sedated,
Until another election comes along, when
Bones will re-rise to raise chaotic slogans,
Once again captivated
By elusive patina of promises on democratic coffins.
And weather predicted to linger unchanged.
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