His lips painted red with ‘Paan’ stains
There sat the Office Boss with all his might.
Never in the good books of people
Somehow gets his stuff done right.
A salty mouth and a hearty tummy
Mister’s now in his late-fifties,
Adept with the cunning tools of his trade
His odd grin like a Chesire cat, it’s all fake.

The Ministry calls for a report someday
There goes berserk, the fatso-desperate
Poor staffers come to his rescue
But But But!
Never a word of appreciation
Lets them morally down.

A few sidekicks at his fingertips
To stretch his persuasive wings
Bullying the poor and befriending the rich
Such was the nature of his.

Out came the orders then
Fatso being relocated elsewhere
Damn! His face said it all,
Like a ripped and torn football
He tried to stay put
And hold tight to his chair
All in vain, Man was out
Once and for all.