T Wignesan Poet Political Verse

True, a Myth-And-A-Half Ever Since Dim Antiquity

True, a Myth-and-a-half ever since dim Antiquity

     “Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead
     Who never to himself hath said
     This is my own, my Native Land”

True, a myth-and-a-half ever since dim antiquity
Who breeds and holds the brood in binding sanctity
Isn’t s/he who sows and let grow blood ties in family

Don’t leaders all use the ruse of saluting country
La Patrie is never the suffering Peoples’ victory
They lay their lives down for their leaders’ greater glory

The plot of land’s where the Soul ignites anonymity
In the au-delà is not country mere pure vanity
Leaders lay wreathes at monuments for tv publicity

Upstarts win lone battle or two through freakish strategy
And let expanding borders be besieged by many enemy
Yet end-up somehow by losing the Imperial Army

Shouldn’t he who seeks to foist himself on a polity
Be required to pass the test of Ego-immunity
No vaccination nor re-inoculation would be free
From an overdose of megalomaniac frenzy
                           
© T. Wignesan –Paris, April 9, 2021

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Rico Leffanta April 13, 2021 at 11:11 AM Reminds me of Mme. de Gaulle's favourite joke: Charles returns home after a day spent saying "Nyet" to Russia, "No" to the USA, et al. Yvonne greets him at the door with, "Mon Dieu! You look so pale!" and Charles responds, "Yvonne! How many times must I tell you that when we are alone, you can call me Charles!"