The room with a view: A poem 

Do leaders ever say a heartfelt sorry? 

They are like opportunistic bees always in a hurry 

And the flowers they seek are ugly with untruth 

For truth is lost in the undergrowth underfoot 

Their magic is an illusion like a magician’s trick 

Honesty’s fingers burnt, but con’s candle is lit 

One can tell that it doesn’t them afflict 

that justice is not their game of cricket 

Their long shadows fall not on the floor 

Front yard’s publicity, shut is the backdoor 

on the junk of the masses, who’s after is just as before  

the promises were made at the glitzy shop window 

Will these leaders peep from the room with a view? 

Wherein are standing, like thumbs, only too few 

Will they heed the miserable, and what they rue? 

And give the lost causes all that is their due