Messiah Don Come: A Poem by CBND

So we were told, the race for the
High table and the jostle for the woody office. Between camps the battle raged, threats and spits of fire and brim stone from cabals poured out . Vote him, he is the best. Promises flowed and compromise followed. Integrity was discarded and personality regarded. Messiah don come!!! So we were told.

The race for five left for one, blackmailed and intimidated rivals absconded for fear of the unprecedented. With no better alternative we were told, the Messiah don come.! Choose him he is the best.

Hopes were high, expectations increased, we longed for innovations and inventions and looked up to the messaih and his band of disciples who kept the chant alive, lo! Messaih don come.

Visionless , directionless and lack of creativity glared in our very face, incompetence and inefficiency displayed  itself brazenly like a girl in a fashion parade. Shamelessly displaying discolored teeth and shabily worn attires, smiling frivolously like any one cared and waved and greeted, squilling in utmost disgust and idiocity, we watched from behind the screen waving heads of sorrow. Lo! Messaih don come.

Uncled about with no dicisive personal political will and initiative, even a toddler can do better and knows when to reject a breast and cry out of desperation, We watched the messaih suck all year round from the breast of the blessed mother. Never wanting to stop and ended up sleeping for twelve months. And we were told messaih don come.

Awakened only a month later from a sweet dream in a candy wonder land he began to jostle about in frantic exasperation, I will sugar your tea and butter your bread. When and how? We knew not. To his help the huge and mighty came. A boat was sinking they said, to save the crew became a priority, the boat can go to hell for all they cared. The messaih hung his head in worry and we saw it. And thought no longer of salvation. He is not the messaih! We affirmed.

One week, just one was too hard to observe, we looked, watched and waited and there was none and we hunged our head in shame and said, this is not the messaih!! The last thread was tightly held and sweet songs of rescue blared out from the huge Salvador, we longed and hoped. And waited for the last miracle to wine and dine in line with gain. And for some T’s to liquidate went we then to P, some whispered, the messaih don come.

Angry faces, bitter complains, comparisons here and there. What is this? She asked.. Hmmmm! seems some flour are lacking here. Passed around we sighed and hissed. To drink some whity with a dot came we to P? Messaih don come.

While some were in the first others were in the third, many saw the course and a little had the meal. Cuddled up in a room, noise blared unstoppable! Dissappointment loomed and nerves were flared! What is this? Some greedy folks had more and some others had none. With sorrow some departed cursing, blaming, sobbing and pointing fingers. This is not the messaih.

Those who learnt their table manners never spoke and some others who are not on the Table screamed!! We have not eaten, we are stranded. Is this a joke or a poem. I think it is both.

Messaih will come, messaih will come. I am the messaih they come again saying, vote me I am the messaih. We have been fooled once and cannot be fooled twice however even if we are, we still know that the messaih will come… CBND