In ancient halls where crowns held sway,
The jester danced with bells a-chime,
A fool by name, yet wise in play,
Whispering truths through mimicry’s rhyme.
To monarchs blind in pride’s embrace,
He pierced the veil with witty jest,
Advising paths of peace and grace,
Unveiling plots that stirred unrest.
With painted face and motley coat,
He turned the court’s grave fears to mirth,
A sage disguised in folly’s note,
Guarding the realm’s precarious worth.
But now the stage has darkly turned,
The clowns ascend to seats of power,
No wisdom gained, no lessons learned,
They juggle lies in the midnight hour.
Witless fools in tailored guise,
Devious hearts with smiles so wide,
They spin deceit beneath the skies,
Where truth and honour long have died.
Destructive hands that ravage lands,
With policies like thunder’s crash,
They sow division with empty plans,
Turning hope to dust and ash.
Their performance, a garish show,
Not born to entertain the crowd,
But veils of smoke where shadows grow,
Hiding blunders spoken loud.
Corruption cloaked in clownish art,
They laugh while pockets overflow,
A tragic farce that breaks the heart,
The kingdom crumbles in their glow.
In chambers lit by flickering screens,
They honk their horns with hollow cheer,
Promising gold from bankrupt dreams,
While pockets bulge with votes bought dear.
Juggling bills like fragile pins,
They drop the load on weary backs,
Then blame the crowd for all their sins,
And paint the facts with twisted tracks.
With makeup thick to mask the rot,
They prance on stages grand and bright,
Corruption’s pie thrown in the pot,
Exploding mess into the night.
The audience, once kings and queens,
Now paupers in this endless show,
Endure the slaps and custard scenes,
As freedom’s tent begins to bow.
Yet hope persists in satire’s sting,
To chase these clowns from power’s ring,
Restore the jester’s honest wing,
And let true wisdom rule as king.
by Bakchos
