Seats of Power, red and white houses

Heavens of sorts or palaces in the  air,

Where dazed people gather in holy amazement

What else do you expect dazed people to do

When they know nothing of the “Machiavellis” inside

For, in the gilded fortresses only “angels” apparently reside

In chambers and rooms and underground vaults

Oval in shape, some rectangular and round

At the same time, alas!

When machinations can never be transparent, we know

Then structures, too, must confuse and confound!

Walled-in and fenced- off, these mortals divine

Eternal is the term but only limited by years,

All through, till the end, are blown fuses and darkness

In these oceans of authority there are plenty of lighthouses

To douse the storms within and drown the fears

Of a loss, the next time round that the gates open up

Readying for a new incumbent, new spit and new polish

For, someone else to do much the same in reality,

Nothing, Really,

Just hang about the gardens for an annual tea party

Much ado about a lot of

Nothing, Really.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)