To be but cattle, or not…: A poem 

What makes a leader 

a hate breeder? 

Clutching at power 

Like sepals at a flower 

The masses are herded like cattle 

The bricks of freedom are all too brittle 

Hope’s moon doesn’t shed light 

against clouds of arrogance, and goes out of sight 

Power is the famine of individual rights 

when evil pugilists win the fights 

Ego dominates the voice of wisdom 

Shades of untruths wall the prison 

For power did not respond to justice 

After beasts brokered the armistice 

And left innocent fields dusted with locusts 

Independence was not open-armed but a clenched fist 

Their feet are sore, their soles hurt 

They are weary, humiliated but 

will they kowtow to corrupt men? 

Each of them has a choice then…