The Poets Are Banished Poem by J T Jayasingh

In my country the poets are banished,
Banished from their memory.
I know, I write in vain
For deaf are their sticky ears,
And blind their cataract eyes.
But their mouths are restless, active
To recite the slogans
Of airtel and reliance.

I don’t wonder
For they captured
Dead philosophers within cabins
To count currencies,
And they parted poets
Among their parties
To cement their seats.

What if a poet is born here?
To be published and recited
For a while as a buffoon
But all he tells will faithfully
Follow him on his doom.

Your light cannot lit this darkness
For they follow the fireflies.
Your wings cannot make them fly
For they take the wings of white ants.
I know, I know this is not
The place a poet to be born
For when he dies more houseflies
Will attend his funeral than them.