Blue Ink
Blue ink Down the long,thin digit Looks like a molehill But,like faith, Can move mountains. Or,at least, the giants That pretend to rule Miraculous blue ink Deciding the fate Of a few Who decide the fate Of the teeming multitudes. As serpentine queues snake their way Through cities and towns and villages No one dares to speak, to say Who they elected king (Or queen,as it may be For India throbs with diversity.) And they exit the booth With solemn faces and jubilant hearts At having,yet again, Shaped the fate of the nation.