poet Bijay Kant Dubey

Bijay Kant Dubey

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My Communist Clerk

My communist clerk a party man
Eats, drinks and sleeps he in the Party Office
And his daily routine as such,
He wakes up in the morning,
The full timers
Make the tea
And he sips
Reading the People’s Paper.

A comrade, regimented and recruited,
Cadred and levied,
He turns into an employee,
An ex-cadre of his party
A dedicated and devoted leftist,
A commissioned communist,
A number one unionist
Spending his time
In popularizing communism, leftist ideas.

And having taken tea and biscuits,
He starts the party programmes and activities,
How to gather news
With regard to the spread of communism,
Connecting man to man,
Doing leftism at the grassroots level,
Mobilizing people and revolutionizing young brains.

Before starting for, he reads the communist Bible,
I mean the Communiust Manifesto,
Tries to think in that way,
Thinking of the betterment of humanity,
As who can be more progressive, democratic and developmental than him?

The Red House, the Red people and the Red philosophy,
The Reds Reddening it all,
History, political science, economics, sociology
Art, society, culture and thought,
Seeing everything with the Red-Red eyes,
Searching colour in all.

Even in the office he gossips about communism,
Comrades and cadres,
Old and new,
The old boots hanging, the rise of new leadership,
The firebrand leaders with the licking tongues of fiery speech,
Giving of slogans
And spreading of hate speeches.

Sitting in the office too, he plots and plans
For the fall of the non-communists,
Trying to impeach and implicate them,
Just like slaves,
As for the tongue
Clicking of freedom of speech and expression
And the communists keep it censured.

Marx, Lenin, Stalin and Mao, the talks of his,
Always on his tongue,
Not Trotsky
And he talking about the spread of communism
In East European countries,
The coups and overthrows of power,
Not the fall of communism,
Waging a war collectively
In the fight against communism.

The gun power, the muscle power, the man power,
The talk of his
And he talking about organizing rallies,
Holding demonstrations,
Staging sit-ins, pen down strikes,
Closures and shutdowns
As for power, keeping power
As well as bargaining it.

Camaraderie, communist brethren or bonhomie,
All moving hand in hand, flanked by
Under the red banner
With the red flag fluttering
And the band party giving music,
Toning up
And they talking of revolutions,
Keeping of power.

The small-small men in power,
The same bourgeois,
But getting managed through the proletariat
And the leader a super hero, a super leader,
My God, your God,
Never dies he,
The superman, the superbrain.

A small man very-very mean and petty
He does a very petty politics,
A politico he keeps politicking,
Doing party and politics,
Wherever goes he
Does he that politics.

The intelligentsia and the bourgeois the talks of his,
But the bourgeois the leaders in reality,
Not the proletarians,
Though they have been given a taste of the cocktail peg
And it is because of his divisive politics,
He is reigning.

Man power, muscle power, arms power,
The talks of his,
The hatching of plots,
How to threat and heckle and harass,
How to do the ragging of,
Taunt and tone down
The job of his?

But may I ask,
Will he be content, will he be happy in his life,
Such a critical fellow,
I have not seen,
Such a mean-minded fellow
Doing ismic politics,
Instigating one after another,
Placing a spy after another,
Letting not others rise?

Where has his got his fiery speech and tongue,
The rhetoric of his of the party office,
Where has he got his strength from,
Do you know, from the union and its unionism,
Doing the organizational politics at the grassroots level?

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Poem Edited: Thursday, August 29, 2013

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