the rhymes of skulduggery
float on my head
to treat or to meet
the locals inwardly dead
The Kris cross of summer
some billions in mind
the barren water
the lawless mind
cries of foul
insufficient food
changes are true
and death imminent
Still I grow,
Still I rule,
all in my mind for
votes of few,
impending festival,
to choose me or not,
for me to have power
or someone else after all.
we all are same
we are true
for we are here
just to rule
