A Little Learning Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

A little learning is a dangerous thing, as goes the clichéd saying,
Those who know a little or rise from small levels
Think themselves great
And there is nothing in that greatness,
As they are the petty men and women
Who have nothing
But self-pride and ego with them.

A little learning is the thing talk I, all those schooled half
And the half yet to be learnt,
Never complete, never perfect,
But half, half in wisdom and knowledge
And their attainment,
But feeling great about them
None but they themselves,
Basking in its glory.

I have seen a man, many a woman, all those half-learnt,
Half-schooled, half-scanned calling themselves great,
The well-read, knowledgeable fellows,
All those countrified men,
The rustics as scholars
And the scholars as rustics.

Everything is but His, so way to pride over in a foolish way,
What it is him is not you, what it is in me is not you,
See the wild flowers and feel about it,
Do they ever say about the display of their rioting colours and hues
Quite unknown, quite unseen,
Hidden from the world,
Wide world and its purview,
Do we ever know?

Many fellows have just grown out from what they had been in the past
And have just improvised, availed of opportunity to grab it,
Have manipulated and manouevred to be in power and position
Otherwise would not have,
What you see them today, sitting on chair,
Calling themselves great men
And feeling great,
Something endurable and contributory.

But I know them as little learning, the men of little learning,
The little-little men,
Half-red and half-schooled
Calling themselves great,
Feeling great, something about,
Befooling and belittling you,
Talking of vainglory,
Doing the self-praise.

The petty-petty local poetasters, rhymers, non-poets and commoners
I have seen them calling great poets
And a few have turned into too
By managing the things,
I have seen the H.S. pass library staff
Turning into varsity librarians
Just by improvising,
The stenos changing over into personal assistants,
I mean a type of the magistrate,
The election department supervisors into election officers,
The block-level supervisors into officers,
My God, how can it be?

My God, what to say about them,
What more do you want to hear from me,
Is this the world of bluff-mastership, bungling and bargaining,
Is it for bargaining?
I have seen a primary schoolteacher and that too a throughout third-class
Purchasing the doctorate degree
And calling himself not Mr., but Dr.,
But which doctor is he, I don’ know it?
I have seen the middle men rising high in life,
The men stooping to conquer,
Stooping and cringing,
I mean the spoons.

I have seen the somehow B.A. pass candidate that through the complimentary exam.
From the stipend getting, a little-paid homeguard to the deputy superintendent rank,
I have seen the honorarium getting supervisors
Turning into the child development gazetted officers,
I have seen the footpath men turning into councilors and legislators,
The sepoys of communism as communist bosses,
The insurance-company agents turning into assistant branch managers
As for business policies
And the companies giving them cars and motorcycles from my own money
He riding them with petrol free, but I walking on foot.