the tailor (just another poem)

Here comes not the Sun.
there comes not a Bollywood Item Girl.
here comes another poetry
it springs up from the shits
Of slum dwellers and the dogs.
the left out old man
with the thick glasses
sitting in the corner,
stitching a trouser,
worries not for global warming
not for another winter
but for something,
you and I do not know.
Without him
My Honorable Chief Minster 'O! Ibobi'
would be naked...
he will be giving speeches
in Naked.
Preaching the Revolutionaries,
how to construct Fly-Overs
leaving his ten percent.
Or he may be too small to notice
in this world.
Think about George Bush!
He would be Naked too
with his squeezing scrotum
and every time he screams
'Fight terrorism! ! '
the balls will enlarge
Oh! that would be like another
great flick of this century
where people talk
only of Globalisation...
Oh! pray the tailors
if your balls do not want to be crushed
on the streets you walk.
Please notice the old tailor!

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