My Work - Poetry


He reclines back on his soft chair
And is filled with the feeling
That he is a boss
Nay he is THE BOSS!
Whilst his favourite occupation,
Nay his first and last occupation
Is to rack his brain,
To discover how to manage all affairs
So that plenty of money
Could flow into his hungry pockets
And his secret accounts could smile with pleasure.
And how he could become
Over a short period of time
A major investor
And an influential person,
By hook or crock
And trickery, hypocrisy and guile,
And changing his colours as need be
And stabbing backs
And stepping on people without means,
As if they were beetles,
For he leaves the question of lawfulness
To the pious and the simple
And he could not care less
What becomes of anyone other than himself
* * * * *
He reclines back - as if on a throne - haughtily
He never gets bored with the word "I" and with his narcissism
He speaks on every topic as though he were an expert
On everything, large or small!
And everyone knows that he is a competent actor
And everyone knows deep in his heart
That he is despicable.

Dubai, 1980