1984 By George Orwell

World looked very cold,
a bright cold day in April.
This is a hate week.

Distinguishable,
the winter had just ended,
sun was shining harsh.

His fair skin was torn,
face, naturally sanguine,
there was no colour.

Down at street level,
every commanding corner,
police are snooping.

At the best of times,
big brother is still watching,
with a sanguine face.

Through shut window-pane
eyes still follow when you move,
big brother is there.

Tomide Abdul