Today I drove an air of the nation, 

To an extravagant rendezvous at Victory Hotel. 

Where there was a horde of other airs of the nation, 

My bet was they were to build the nation, 

But I didn't see the blocks. 

They were all dressed up in expensive clothing, 

Their meals expensively glowing

With the monies of the nation. 

They ate and chattered,

Like careless birds.

They brought up the nation's cake; 

Together with the nation's minerals

And set it on an elegant table, 

In the middle of the party. 

They called it 'mild dessert'. 

And while they ate it slice by slice, 

A poorly-dressed waiter stood by the column, 

His stomach screaming with ulcer

And his hands dancing to the music of stroke.

©Evans Khojo