One two three, too numerous to keep count
To be exact, as many as grains of sand on a beach
Tributaries nourishing the main channel heading out
To a deep saline and passed out as the Dead Sea

Witness cries pregnant with precipitous intensity
Of a populace robbed noontime of a poll victory
Writ of choice’s erased, in place of life’s existence
Freedom long sought comes to naught, willy-nilly

Like promising clouds dispersing before blessing
The consequential ache is a stretch across badlands
Yet again die-hards dead to the death of conscience
Seize our gold, oh hopefuls; God! Take cognisance