God, save me, save me from
Indian English poets and poetesses
Calling themselves
Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser,
Wyatt, Drayton,
John Dryden, Alexander Pope,
Thomas Gray, William Blake,
Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley,
Tennyson, Arnold, Browning,
Eliot, Pound, Yeats,
Eliot, Auden, Spender,
Masefield, Bridges, Mare,
God, my God,
Save me, save me from
These mad and maniac men,
Save me, save me
From these duplicate poets,
My God,
Save me, save me
From the people
Let loose from
A mental asylum,
The abnormals and addicts,
The druggies and the drugged
Living and dying poetry,
Half-awake and half-sleeping
And smiling
And babbling by themselves.
God, God, save me, save me,
Save me, save me from,
Let, let me hide,
Hide in,
Hide from them,
They are coming,
Coming,
I can, can hear the footsteps approaching,
Some thinking themselves
Great zamindars, some nawabs,
Some business tycoons, not typhoons,
Some with the French-cut beards
Just a little bit on the chin
As for to be modern not, post-modn,
Not like V.S.Naipaul and Salman Rushdie,
But copying them,
Trying to copy as far as possible,
As far as, can be,
Some walking on tip-toe,
Some thinking themselves
As Gandhi and Nehru used to think of
In their early life,
Some in the goggles emulating Sir Vidya.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There are wanna be poets, copycats and hacks like this throughout the world. It is indeed aggrevating