You, Sir!

Had it not been for the kick,

He knew.

But paradoxically, his mind constantly plays on him a trick,

He wishes to dig deep,

His secretes in the dark to keep.

Although, it is often played out in public.


When he is not in trance,

Under the influence of a substance,

He exudes absolute self-confidence, 

And his train of thought so far in advance,

In sorting out things to balance.

But this is a charade, an art,

That has become his master trade.


This said, however, sooner than later,

people, including himself, the perpetrator,

Will exhume and uncover,

The cadaver that

Had loved to consume,

A voracious consuming lover in turn.


But this was not an inordinate intemperance,

Nor a craving for a substance,

But hunger for a political power dominance.

But unlike an addict -

Face-down on a side road,

Pitted by the public,

 who witnessed  the tragic,

This bloke will be pelted,

With uncompromising rocks,

Until pronounced dead - kaput!


Knowing how fragile you are,

Praise the Lord,

By a cruel quirk of fate,

Alas! You are saved -

That you have not become he,

By intent or

Machiavellian talent,

Involved you did not get,

To fight and win leadership context.

For if did, 

You would have had,


On what you had promised settled,

Lied through your teeth,

Uncomfortable realities to deal with,

Mishandled and,

Back Stabbed  reliable people,

When they had become most vulnerable.

Plundered and embezzled,

An economy already troubled.

Leaving desperate people,

Desperately praying for a miracle,

To get rid of a biblical riddle - YOU:   Sir,  Les Miserable.

Copyright Haileselassie Girmay