Donald Trump, do you have courage in your rump?: A poem 

Hey Mr Donald Trump! 

Do you have courage in your rump? 

Does the fear of Prakash Saint Paul give you goosebumps? 

Because there’s omnipotent hijacking in his thumbs? 

Of course, I’ll never have Promised Land 

because such deviousness in his hands 

And your neighbourhood mullah will ultimately sing: 

Prakash Saint Paul is my King 

I am God, who has tears like a mist 

Did you get the bloody gist 

the Ayatollah has me on his hitlist? 

Better you all don’t give me, God, the nod 

because isn’t it odd, the deep sea seems like a winning treacherous Lord 

As you can see brave stallions 

don’t have greedy rapining talons 

Of them, Prakash Saint Paul has gallons 

So, I can’t blame you all for being his minions 

It’s either the fish or the Moon 

I just rather go, later or soon 

For, I can’t walk and I can’t talk 

straitjacketed am I, Prakash Saint Paul has it all locked 

My enemies have their Champagne bottles all uncorked 

Trump, you can see the rats, the Democrats 

love Mohammed (Mamdani) for their stats 

And I can bid them Congrats 

For, Prakash Saint Paul will give them just that! 

He is so treacherously well-meaning 

He either means to give the fish its wish 

Or the moon its silver spoon! 

The rest are all at the risk of being hijacked 

Can you guess justice has capsized? 

Of course, Prakash Saint Paul reigns at my cost 

You can see he has all the chances to call the shots 

My generosity, suffering, blood and sweat, and what not? 

With no help from anyone, I just feel like getting lost!