The Student Of Comedy Poem by Indrajit Chatterjee

The lights were dim and smoke filled the café;
The barkeep tended to the patrons with a smile
Decked in swagger, the jazz band sang before the Party;
All this while Marvin entered the stage from behind the wings,
Not just another Sunday evening; this one was different.
The staff loved it, it was '‘the high point' of the weekend', they said
A way to wash the dreariness of the week and start afresh;
But he couldn't avoid tonight; Murdoch was in, as was the Party
Efficient like a machine, they had first rights to comic critique
And tonight was no different; they would tame comedy their own way..
Not everyone understood ‘satire', such was its dual-edged sword.
It wasn't meant to praise and neither meant to offend; it was what it was.
A high-five, a casual ‘how do you do', a pleasantry to break the ice..
He lumbered on to the very stage to deliver the same punchlines
It had to be done, a stand had to be taken even if it meant the end was near.
The crowd shuffled in their seats, gingerly looking toward Murdoch.
Not a single punch was pulled by Marvin though; he felt a rush of freedom.
Buoyant in his heart, he shrugged off the hand pushing him to floor..
The guards surrounded him as lay beneath Murdoch's feet.
The Party would claim a fine victim who wouldn't abandon his professional touch.
He smiled before the them as he saw the trigger being pulled.
The student was silenced; his humour, immortalized…