Preamble to A Drafter’s Rejected Bill

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i can conjure situations

flip through endless possibilities

by the stroke of my pen

who be that sinister, evil psychopath

that i will devise?

what be the future 100 years

from now?

through the years

i spend my time

refining the skill

staring at empty shadows

deep into the nights

revising documents, reworking

sentences, 30 times, 50 times

painstakingly editing drafts

“you do it effortlessly”

“you are damn good”

so, we sit with policymakers

read through bills

“strike that”

“no, that’s not comprehensive”

what they propose

what they deem  important

is like confetti dipped in mud

but cheerfully, i ask them

how it will work

upon which they get a revelation

of their “ideas” and “policies”

but you cannot arm-twist me

into writing bad law

i am a prophet staring

into the future

with my pen poised

to the boundaries of

imagination

no surveyor delineates me!

i have tucked with me

the combined histories

of the world, their politics,

their fears, their hopes

their collective stature

yet, you who instruct me,

are you willing to respect my art?

are you ready to treat  me as a professional?

i will not lose my sleep, though,

mankind’s approbation or opprobrium

comes least

let me be, let my work be

its feet clamped into Now and Future

conjuring scenarios upon scenarios

if that be, that will be my crowning moment!