A mighty nincompoop
The presiding deity seated on
The canonical pedestal
Sways his scepter
That much resembles a torch
Emitting puffs of smoke.

But this torch is no beacon
As it blurs his (own) vision
And fills his (own) mind with smoke.

All his devotees who
Prostrate themselves before him
Choke and gasp for a breath
Of fresh air and of some hope
In his temple so filled with smoke.

This dunce, this numskull,
This egghead with a sight so short
And so petty in his thoughts
Roars with laughter
At his own silly jokes
No doubt! His mind is filled with smoke.

He divines the past
And anticipates that which is
Long dead and gone
None can check him
None can even mock
Because his mind is filled with smoke.

With his pretense of wisdom and knowledge
He tries to thrust people into bondage.
He is a casuist outright who
Twists and bends facts
And infiltrates minds with sheer non-sense.
He dissuades any new sprout
Nips it in the bud, discredits creativity,
Stamps it with a thud.


6th September 2007
11.00 PM

asma bahrainwala

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-first-attempt-at-satire/