Summer heat, Lent and politicians

Classes are over. It is summer. And the heat is on. Blazing sans mercy is the summer sun scorching the earth dry. The grass is dying. Cornstalks are yellowing and hunger strikes the land. Where's the shower that used to cool the land? Where are the dewdrops that used to dampen the earth? These have fled like the season birds. These have gone like the ghost of hope in the heart.

As the sun beats the land, candidates beat the trail, shaking hands, hugging babies, smiling dryly to one and sundry. Here I am, your friend. Have come to bring you hope. Have come to bring you joy: Remember me in May. Promises. Promises. Always promises, but the people love promises. They know these end up in the sky. But the people love promises, love to hear promises. They never give up on they who suck the wealth of the land. They whose callousness have brought them unending calvaries. Always the fools, always the betrayed, yet they never put these taskmasters to task.

So welcome, all ye harbingers of hard life. Say your say and they applaud. Say something good, say something trite - they'll give you a big hand just the same. They'll laugh when you laugh, they'll frown when your frown. In your hands, they are - your victims yet your boon.

What have they done to get hocked to blabbers of trapos? What wrong had their forebears done to deserve hell on earth? Lent is here, yes. Are politicians part of their penance? Have God sent these like the Egyptian pestilence to test the measure of faith? Blessed are you who suffer for my sake for yours is the kingdom of heaven. Is suffering the ticket to the pearly Gate? Is hard life a prelude to something heavenly? If this is so then politicians are saints. Because they make so many suffer, they make so many saintly. Without politicians heaven won't have any tenant. Abundance won't bring in penitents. Joy would drive away the prayerful. Laughter and songs are for the nonchalant. Faith springs only from they who suffer, they whose bodies ooze with the wounds of lepers.

Halleluiah therefore for those who suffer the heat to spread the lies of the good life, and forget about it later. Make way for the loud-mouthed with loud promises. The land is dry, drier than this is what they say. Land for the landless? Baloney! Food for the hungry? Double baloney! If there's a billion now, tomorrow won't bring a pittance. Today a surfeit of food. Tomorrow a stab in empty stomachs. But who would not rejoice at dole-outs? Joy is getting something out of nothing, harvesting without planting, basking in complete content with nary an effort. There's something in idleness that entices, that dulls the senses and drowns the conscience.

But the politicians won't mind. They love it in fact, that people don't work hard and don't prosper. If they do, who will rejoice at dole-outs? Nobody would open their palms at election day. Their tricks won't work anymore. Honest people would get the mandate, the country would prosper. Where would the trapos be? That's why promises are just promises and made to be broken. Promises for jobs and the good life? Promises for good schooling and healthy life? Promises to call it quits at stealing the people's money? They would say it now but forget later. They're angels now but devils later.

And yet at election circus, the people seem to like it all. Cheers for their bosses! Down with your dolts!

Lent is a season of prayer. People should pray for politicians, especially the bad ones. God, they should implore, give us more lying, cheating politicos. Give us these that we may suffer more for in suffering we will be one with you in Calvary.
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