An Indian Malady Poem by vidyut chakraborty

He wants his arable land to be safe,
he begs for a dole card,
to him a big question is to link up a safe custodian
of his property-a wife, a sister and a daughter.
He wants his kids be educated as wished
by his forefathers once.

'Imperialism' is a queer question mark,
he is not a lettered man in theory.
He does not bother Economics, Politics or Sociology.
To show an undaunted stature before his lord
means much more than USA's Imperialism.
He will be out of job once he protests,
he will lose his land for the sake of 'Development',
uncommonly his blood may fertile a paddy field.
He is swayed by the ‘ long live revolution’ slogan-
he follows who ever shouts it,
no matter red, green, yellow or blue their flag is.
All to be safe and sound,
to him, a Panchayat* member is the lord of grace.
To an insect a gecko is more dangerous than a crocodile.

He joins the rally called by the rulers of the day.
Night gives him a shade of shame,
to hide his face within the tides of his woman.
he runs from the truth, he rushes for a lie,
both are equal to him to earn his daily bread-
it is the reality.
Mere theorization of proletariat dictatorship
hits him below the belt,
Change of situation punches him regularly.
He remembers his forefathers dreamt of a new society
The literate media people come to his village
to highlight his helplessness, his granted humility,
Their truth display a showcase of fraternity.
‘Imperialism’ has no meaning to him,
Local politics is his hardcore reality.

[* Panachayat is an Indian version of village borough council]