It’s a game of favouritism,
Beyond the politics of setting bond;
Why would anyone join this ballistic socialism
To boast the goodness in this ambience of mourn?
He pointed his finger to them
With innocence and confidence;
And the furious rage burst into his world
Felicitating the pretentious mend!
22nd poem of NaPoWriMo 2016 series!
How do you see the word ‘Politics’? Tell in the comment section.
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