Dear President Trump, Your Reign will End in Tears
A critique via a poem/prose
Sir: Can you see what’s probably coming?
We know what brought the rise.
What will bring the fall?
Will you feel what’s breathing
Upon the back of your naked neck
As the spine quivers in the night.
Oh, what in this world got into you?
Your Reign will end in tears.
How do you feel, Mr President?
….
Ah, the fall…
Not due to Democrats frozen in history
Who learnt not a spark from you,
A signal of their ungracious demise
An engagement with self-incompetence
While soaked in wishy-washy liberalism.
How do you feel, Mr President?
….
Not due to the sting of the bullet
A pierced ear as life hung by a thread
In the shaky forefinger of assassin’s aim
God saved you for your tears.
How do you feel, Mr. President?
President Trump signs executive order for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants
Not due to your executive orders
Nor vitriol of words and weapons
Nor due to threats, fist pumping
Nor desires to control the anarchy
Of disbelief, of indifference, of meltdown
Nor the yawns of your subjects.
How do you feel, Mr. President?
….
Not due to your slumbering weight
A trap for your mind with swollen pride
Amidst creep of contracting arteries
Amidst your cry of “ill, baby, ill”
Each breath marking one less breath
To expel into the polluted air.
…..
Not due to dire days of crashed promises,
Violent eruptions, fermenting social unrest
Burning in forests of stars and stripes,
And fields of tormenting ridicule.
Of inequality, of injustice and threats
Amidst worship of odour of wealth extreme
How do you feel, Mr President?
….
No. Not due to weight of above
To bring you down to your knees.
Nor soulful tears of MAGA, MAGA, MAGA
“Make America Good Again.”
Not your MAGA mantra thrown back
Into puffed face from puffed-up chants.
How do you feel, Mr President?
….
A stroke landing on White House stairs
Or your weight holding a pillar for dear life
“Not feeling great” for aging Mr President
No way to Make Me Great Again.
While Lord Yama* knocks on your Oval door.
Take it easy, Mr President.
….
Not due to homegrown fires, floods and
Frozen landscapes, sunburnt, sunless,
With senseless blame dribbling
From dry lips and watery eyes.
How does it feel, Mr President?
….
Not due to felonies, sex, courts,
Nor the wrath of public opinion,
Nor the doldrums of the dollar,
Nor the wailing of Wall Street
How does it feel, Mr President?
….
Look ahead, My President
without the poisoned chalice
And the bark from false teeth
But watch your back, your
heavyweights in public office,
a major influencer with arm raised.
Watch out. Watch Out.
….
Caesar Act Three. Scene 1
William Shakespeare
Brutus. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar…
(The conspirators get out their knives).
Caesar: Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? Speak, hands, for me!
Et tu, Brutè?
Brutus. Then fall, Caesar.
….
Dear Mr President
Take great care with your handpicked assassins
Who might cut you down with words,
In their sin-soaked silk underwear
Flashy smiles and craving for conquest
Of you, an impingement
The leaks, the stories, the snide,
Tip offs, encircling wolves
With mega egos of the barking mad
Will they think the Emperor has lost his clothes?
They might want your reign to be over.
Forever.
DEAR MR PRESIDENT.
You will need the love of your family to support you through the coming of hard times.
Love
Christopher
*Lord Yama. Buddhist personification for death.
MAY ALL BEINGS LIVE IN PEACE AND HARMONY
Nice.
Yep. I feel ashamed to be an American. Thank you!