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Friday 15 November 2019
A Politician’s Wife

A Politician’s Wife


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For every public declare–a-rama

There has to be a rehearsal drama

A script to fight

A man to knight



Temple thoughts

To double whammy

Apt phrasey

(whoops-a daisy)

Catch wordy

Fire targets

To sink the mighty.


When my husband gives out his smile

He knows his turn and timing

When he grows cold

And almost bold

It’s only to protect his lining

No one should know

When he does not-

And if you want your climbing

Get his man to sus it out

Make your thoughts his dining.



A politician’s wife

The tricky life

Shining through a whole day’s alphabet

The language bites

But Caesar’s right

He needs it for his men

To fight

Calpurnia watches

Through latches and catches

To be his lady fair

Care I a day

Care you a night

Integrity is rare.



The politician grows

His power shows

He builds upon his tower

Count his appearances

His hours, his time

Guilt hangs there like a flower.


When my leader’s day is done

He dreams of times to come

Works and heirs

Loves and cares


Never fair

Using minor encrusted sorcerer seers

Epitaphs for his bier

Caressed by zephyrs

Embalmed by friends

Never thought this could ever end

All that rim and tuck

Belch and fuck

Suspicious of every duck

Standing back to the wall

And mindful of all the exits!



The leader’s wife

Cuts like a knife

The cake of his pomposity

I risk my all

At this costume ball

To be heard-

By this man

Tell me, is he ten feet tall?



But I am talking of many things

Harbinger clouds

Rainy Kings


Tempera tempura a mores

Nonsense but


Sura who can care a

Might rule and share a

My politician’s life

Protected by its veil a

An unspeakable trail a


It’s invisible too

Invisible You!

Make a wanton dare a


Come Ideas

Come to me

Come friends

Care for me

Come my cares

Work for me

Come my share

And heaven’s snare

Keep my body warm.



And in the end

God will send

Caesar’s gift of divinity

I will shirk

All my quirks

And display unnatural humility

The Master’s curse

Will turn out my purse

To buy stones for my monument

But when I’m dead and at the end

Make sure you send

My Caesar’s works to me

Will say those stones

His weary bones

Can answer nary clones

Their turn has come

But I am gone

To my Hall of Fame and Glory-

But ignominious rout

What helluva clout

Was once mine

To send



Gautam Mukherjee
Gautam Mukherjeehttp://ghatotkachseriesthree.blogspot.com/
Commentator on political and economic affairs

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