“Turning and turning in
this widening gyre;
The falcon cannot hear
the falconer
Things fall apart, the
centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the land.
The blood doomed tide
is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all
conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity”-
W.B. YEATS
Dear Sir, I’ve
at many times nursed the ambition to pen you this missive. Of particular
mention, was during the twilight of last year when open letters littered all
sections of the media, both print and electronic. But it appeared that any time
I pick up my ink to write, somewhere out of the blue, a voice from within tells
me to give you another benefit of doubt, that everything will soon be fine and
so I have all these while taken a chill to see if common sense will drown the
lust of power which many have attributed to your continuous grip or hold onto
the seat of power. Let me categorically say that I share in their single story
of you, irrespective of how incomplete they may be.
