Hath I suppose to trim down my cuts
of delusional entity of fame?
it was full of questions and buts
of how this cut-out played the ultimate game;
of tender feeling of social highness
of lights and jewelries stuffed your body
unaccountable for your political folly
as the tainted gleam of cash show its brightness.
plunging guilt still you withheld
stating false predictable testaments
should we cry? should we raise hands and yield?
plead? to your graft’s unimaginable predicaments!
keeping luscious fine picked strata: you fail
kindly sleep behind the cold, doomed jail rail.
23rd of May, 2012