ON THE SUPREME
COURT RULING AGAINST THE PROROGATION OF PARLIAMENT, two sonnets
Rain is impartial,
it falls
On the client, the
accuser,
And the bewigged court,
Without favour,
without fervour;
The rain functions like
law,
It delivers its decisions
On days of death, days
of birth;
It touches the
heavens, the earth,
The in-between
citizen;
Unlike snow, love or
hatred
It never thaws; it
flows
Where learned minds
have led…
It arises, in
distant tumult,
Above mortal
struggles of those
Who would play gods
to ants;
To go below Machiavel
faces,
Reading past their
blank pages,
As a void, to where
morals plant
Forests that build
up parliaments,
The wood that grows
strong vaults.
Rain is not
passionate,
It is sane, measured,
sober…
You can drink the
rain
Unlike wine, and
not go wild;
Though sometimes, supreme,
It makes people run
in streets
In what is only
apparent chaos,
To partially plan,
partially dream.
24th
September, London, 2019
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