A melon is in the chair like a buffoon,
Pompous minions throng about the melon,
Red soil tarnished on the curtains all around,
Sacred laws turned secret code words,
Flying with the poor’s wages,
Eating stylish fruits and drinking colourful ‘tea’,
He speaks grammarless language,
Dumping down the villages, raising walls around them,
It was all for a visit of an inimical friend to the land,
He has drunk the spirit of Hitler,
And his outlandish and fanatic ‘soldiers’ behind him,
Having pocketed the beggars’ alms, he trims his beard.
He followed his inimical friend along the synthetic roads,
For he had buried the fertile soil to show jewel-like nation.
He’s a melon and makes everyone melons,
Blowing the trumpet of lies and shamelessly,
All because he’s a comedian in a circus.

------- Author's Notes -------

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