An Election Capsule Poem by Ravi Panamanna

Here is a cracker
There is a fighter.
Here is a tongue twister,
There is a verbal flare.

The stage is all set
Everyone claims no defeat.
By throwing each other mud,
The scene is never vapid.

Abuse fills the air,
Index finger is raised against each other.
It is all a backbite with graphs and accounts,
Opponents are never given any rest!

More than our party's bards,
Your trades are on our cards.
It is a war of our truth and your cheat,
Until the end, it is a hard fight.

With our razor blade, our tongue,
Your throat is ripped to the root.
Our party has excellent orators,
Able to reel the masses turn asses.

And, on the conclusion of the polls,
With sureness we would retire to beds.
Then, with figures, it is all gimmicks-
A game of exit polls until the results.

A clear sweep is all our prediction,
For us, it is beyond fiction.
If the sway is against us,
We would swear "wait until the announcement".

Even after a sure defeat,
It would be a verbal fight, for, we are pugilists.
Parties can be destroyed but never defeated,
Wounded lions are never a vanquished lot.

08th November 2020.

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