Friday, February 17, 2012

Day 48/366

The Journalist
Notepad in one hand,
Fountain pen in the other,
They write down as you speak,
They smoke like they're all brothers.

A tip off and he's vanished,
In the middle of your family meal,
Let him go, unfortunate one,
Let him write on nuclear deals.

The journalists are a funny lot,
But you need them to keep you sane,
They could be writing about politics,
Or cyclones because of heavy rain.

With great power came great responsibility,
To the street smart young man of today,
The journalist is worthy of the respect,
For he was born to be here to stay.

1 comment:

  1. He'll write like he's born to
    Out of truth, whim or will.
    You challenge his integrity,
    His unbiased ways you grill.

    But come rain, terror or malice
    He succumbs to neither threat, nor glory
    He has one obsession, one goal
    He wants to tell your story.