Second Guess

If he has more
His fingers would still fold
Like the mimosa flower
Whose open white teeth is no indication
Of the redness of the blood beneath

Like the wicked ruler
Given a chance to rule again
Will release all the hidden talents
He is yet to perform
The script written in hell.

And if i can hire a wielder
To join a whip to my tongue
To address these children of fabricated fathers
Whose pregnancies should have been aborted
Cut into tiny pieces of maggots
Than be allowed trotting the earth
While their mansions
Await their arrival in hell.

Bose