The person who sent me this (thank you) signed off as Voltaire. It is a poem.
The P_ and his cohorts
May gloat on what seems a win
On the delusion of grandeur
And Illusion of dignity won
By criminals, serial thieves, murderers,
Looters, losers, liars, plunderers and rapists
Living in parasites paradise within
The confinement and walls of
Exclusivity and egoistic entitlement
The contaminated virus of their
Plastic variances of vanities
Seen, heard and felt is
Corrupted by inflated invincibility,
Copulating in greed
Populating on pomposity
Laughing and inflicting
The nation with unprecedented ills
The likes of which has never been
Seen, heard or known
Reap just rewards, they will.
Each Will be subject to the
Contemptuous spittle of our curses
For they know not the foul mood
Their smallness, littleness,
Pettiness or meanness, has cast
Grief and grievances
Upon a nation whose SON is cast in
A dungeon of valour for
The shame of a nations sacrifice
The Misappropriation of justice
The honour of a nation chained
If they knew, felt, saw or understood
Stupid and stubborn as they
They would know that
Nothing will assuage the anger of the citizens
We who are past the difference
Of your idea of ethnicity
We who are past the dissonance
Of your division by faith
The Pendatangs that you call us
Accept and love as our own
Our Brother Rafizi Ramili.
He needs no status,
He needs no awards or titles,
He has earned what no Titled head
PM or the elite has achieved:
Our esteem and affection without claim.
Have you the P_, your family and cohorts
Won or distinguished yourself, on any matter?
NO, NONE, ZERO, Period, Full stop!
Let us with kindness comfort
Console each of you, In advance
For the rejection of your inevitable
Dejection which is bound to happen
Our common spittle
Free of rage, rancour and malice is,
Awarded as highest and vilest honour
In recognition of your untiring
Persistent efforts of mediocre thievery.
The unbelievable notoriety and nightmare,
Thrust upon this Nation
As evidenced and resident in your actions
Does emit from the constitution
Of flesh, blood and bones
The irony of which is not lost upon us
Richly deserving and blessed
Are you of spittle and dung
How we dream and wish
It could be a whole lot more.
VOLTAIRE
My comments :
'There she blows' - when a whale was sighted
That was before. Good men were knighted.
Now it is more blighted. There she blows.
Could be a hippo's fart. Morons delighted.
Zero is his achievement. Nothing comes to mind.
Even the tunnels he built, over paid over borrowed.
Our money, our time.
Unintelligence jumps at us.
Screechy voice, stupid appearances.
Limp wristed, feminine stances.
In the native lingo, like a transvestite
This one they call a leader
History will spit, grave will be shit.
His own people will bleach themselves
To unstick the piss
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