An "I" obsessed Leader

 🪞An "I" obsessed Leader

Who is this figure

that arrived not as a servant,

but as a sculptor —

carving his own face into the stone of the nation

until the people forgot their own?

Who stands on stages not to listen,

but to perform —

not for the people,

but for the echo of his own voice?

Who chants pride,

preaches glory,

but beneath every speech is the trembling syllable:

“I.”

---

Who turned a democracy into a spotlight?

Not by the people,

not for the people,

but by him,

for him,

about him.

Who wore poverty like a photo shoot,

posed beside the grieving,

then taxed them dry

to build temples in his image?

Who turned tragedy into theatre —

not showing up for burning states,

not speaking for women stripped of dignity,

not weeping with the dying —

but asking always:

“How do I look?”

---

Who claims nothing is greater than the nation

but acts as if nothing is greater than his name?

Who made watchdogs lie down,

made parliament a stage,

judges into echoes,

press into perfume?

Who turned silence into strategy —

not out of depth,

but out of calculation?

---

Who never faced a real press conference?

Never whispered,

“I was wrong”?

Never held space for grief without twisting it into claps?

Where children died,

he smiled.

Where women bled,

he posted.

Where justice cried,

he muted.

---

Who sold the country in pieces

to protect a single man whose empire fed his?

Who locked away the honest,

and garlanded the guilty?

Who turned law into fear

and democracy into branding?

---

Who made the majority feel unsafe

just so they’d need him?

Who sedated minds with sermons,

fed hatred as medicine,

and called it patriotism?

Who chained a billion souls

with the illusion of safety

while his own soul fed on applause?

---

Who, truly, is this man —

who holds the flag

but eats the fabric?

Who lifts the constitution

but deletes its meaning?

Who doesn't serve —

but colonizes?

---

And still —

he asks the world to admire him.

But behind the parades,

behind the chants,

behind the empire of illusions —

Truth has been watching.

It has no speechwriters.

No slogans.

Just presence.

And it remembers.

---

Not a mystery.

Not a god.

Not misunderstood.

Just a man,

obsessed with his reflection —

a hollow monument to power

that forgot how to care.

---