Why am I dispassionately now? What prison
do I inhabit that cuts me off from the storms around?
Why this silence? Where is that fury, where is the sound
of gnashing teeth and clenched fists of rage?
Why do I not bash in, on TV, those talking heads
Why do I not even care to watch those threads
of discussions on rape, murder, pillage and loot
but choose, instead, to escape, to blindly scoot
into a world of make believe laughter?
Candles have burned across this land, burned
a million hearts with youthful hope and churned
the dreams of an Indian spring - in my Autumn
loneliness I seek a darkness in the weary bottom
of my heart unable to bring a glow alive.
Where once I raged and plotted five hundred thirty four
timeless deaths I now sit back and merely pour
myself yet another peg of Scotch and sagely nod
to myself and pray to a nameless unfriendly God
to salve this nation, to salve my empty soul.......
A nameless woman died a shame filled death
Countless times, over and over again she will die
In Delhi, Mumbai, Jhajjar, Kochi, India, Bharat
Wearing provocative clothes when she's even barely three?
Inciting lust even when she's sixty plus and grey
While God men dispense advice free and Gods desert us
While leaders deny what's under our noses
While a nation that's young and in a hurry demands instant justice
An ageing, middle aged man like me continues to search
for a misplaced, mislaid rage that seems to have vanished.....
......... into thin air, evaporating like a camphor that did not burn.
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