False – Democracy

Inside the conjecture, I suddenly realized,
That the mountain has a mouth.
A monster in an antenna,
Beyond the imagery I arise
A forest inside a stomach.

A smoky squirrel in a party says,
That democracy is a game of the man.
The space is dark and crooked,
Cultists colluding and rearranging
Black is same as white.

Government of necessity by the number implies,
That self - interest and perpetuity are brothers.
Gullibles enclosed in fire,
A game of gamut
The terrorist in them.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story

Most democracies are false. It is better to call a spade a spade. It is time for us to do the needful. Let us entrench true democracy.