The Writ of the Whip Hand

By Lynn Ockersz

From weary elders wilting in winding queues,

For their life-saving Covid-19 jabs,

To bread winners crying themselves hoarse,

For their five thousand rupee food packs,

To children climbing hills and trees,

Trying to catch up with class room lessons,

Elusive and difficult to track down,

To protesting public servants,

Rammed head first into waiting prison vans,

The people of the fabled isle,

Are being told where to get off,

By the master class holding the whip hand,

And the lesson which should have been learned,

With the dawning of nineteen forty eight,

Is now being freshly unfurled before public eyes,

And the lesson runs thus:

“You, the people, are subjects and not citizens,

And this is best branded molten hot in your minds.”