Oh Tzar of ******'s bleaching bone
Thee of blood soaked terror's home
Whilst striding from thy crimson cusp,
Anointing children, dead at dusk,
Weeping mothers, poets slain
You sip from goblets brimmed with pain
Soldiers fall at your command,
Prayer unheard across the land
And hatred drips from those who sing
Thy death-- the dawn's red sun shall bring.
The whispers of unearthly screams
Breath the foulness of your dreams,
Touch the agony, the flame,
Ignited in your tyrant brain
Treachery becomes thy ilk
A garrote soaked in mother's milk,
The stiletto to the small of back
An assassin's terminal attack.
No vespers from thy closest friend,
No grief at matrimony's end,
No crowds lamenting in the square
Just cold, hard earth awaits you there....
Gone those groveling to win,
Gone the subservient, then within,
Gone that snap of fast salute
Now curses flail with lashing boot.
Now the curled successor's grin .....
Thy image ---
A forgotten thing.
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Putin, the Dictator, the tyrant....what a fragile world he lives in. Borne of his own cruelty, heartlessness and ego. Generating a blatant and everlasting hatred in the generations he has oppressed, the only way out of his quandary is a violent death, a coffin, probably instigated by his closest compatriots or his family, maybe even his wife.....What makes a tyrant seek this life? What makes him dwell in his sphere of suspicion, envy and jealousy; What endears him to the hatred he has meted out to all the vulnerable in his realm?
HAS HE NO FEAR?