I can Trumpet my war cries against all of you!: A poem 

You can’t reduce my Kings; they reflect my valour 

I am not going to spare any of you your pallour 

This is my right, and I am going to exercise it in colour 

I have never discriminated between rupee and dollar! 

Remember, I am no clotheshorse, but swifter than a steed 

I have bled for all of you; but I can also make you bleed 

Don’t take my patience for granted, just you all pay heed! 

I can Trumpet my war cries, and make you pay for misdeeds 

Don’t hallucinate; your calls for freedom are haunted by evil 

Did you all eat from its coffers; now, you fear its gavel 

Should you choose to stump me; I swear I’ll make you all grovel 

This scrawl of a Paul has imposed on you all, his treacherous writing on the wall! 

I’ve been sublime with your false loyalties, but I still don’t blame you 

Paul’s desperation to rule the world; so, he became all of you! 

But my tolerance is no straitjacketed penance; I’ve never asked my due 

Do you want the prospect of my salvation to be reserved not for you all, but only for a few?!