When the last vermin is exterminated
And joker-politicos come X-rated,
You will still court the highest glory.
There’ll be no end to your story.
To which corner of god’s earth did that
Isham guy retreat to? The media
That clicked his self-roping
Has not hankered after his eloping. Self-roping:
You rope yourself and you walk out inquiries. Just like that.
And now you’re back, as we knew
You will walk through the front door.
Waving to the crowd, forefinger wagging,
After a rocket-ride to the moon and back,
The President’s jet-lagging yet
And Silva — that name so common that
A dozen would come out if you kicked a frond —
You make that name stand out and shine
Where history’s naturally made; beyond
Closed doors, shades and guard
And Isham’s kid will ask some day
Whether there are mega stars in the milky way.
Isham’s limited knowledge — doctorless brain —
Will only tell his kid again and again:
Stars don’t come that easy. Stars ain’t heaven made.