by Athena Mondal
A flash of blood red.
The preacher’s son is dead.
The dawn of our horizon is beckoning
Is it now time for our reckoning?
The marching band changes rhythm.
A harmless dare
A quiet prayer
A subtle nod
Spare the rod
Innocence lost at the cost of living
Pink makes way for black.
Take up the shroud and give up the cape
Wrap yourself till comfort becomes stifling
Let the darkness take over your mind
Watch the shadows dance around you
Clench your fists and grind your teeth
Don’t look for heroes in the abyss of humanity
Heroes are what myths are made of
Heroes are what fantasies are made of
Heroes are what dreams are made of
Not what you are made of.
Bow your head to the Almighty
Hold your rosary close
Exchange it for the Gita
Might just work, who knows?
Barter your soul for a Beretta 92
Available now in pink, green and blue.
The philosopher ponders
The layman wonders
The writer writes
The subaltern fights
The veteran rues
The lawyer sues
The mother cries
The daughter dies…
The painters paint
The sycophants taint
The singers croon
The actors swoon
The leaders lead
The soldiers bleed
The doers do
And what about you?
You with your Oxford degree
You with your voice
You with the lofty ideas
Have you made your choice?
You twirled the baton?
You joined the crew?
You pointed the finger?
Have you realised three point back at you?
Hiding is what we know best
Confrontations are left for another day
False convictions help warm our beds at night.
Ah sweet oblivion!
We will nod and we will sympathise,
We will even go for that protest and sing that song
We will debate the whole week long!
Yet unlike our children we will never learn right from wrong.
You see it’s all about perspective
One man’s poison, another’s meat.
Survival of the fittest leaves no space for the weak.
Yet we nearly always tend to forget
Some man’s meat will always be our poison.