Of All the horses and the traders.

The rice has weevil, muttered the village folk
The land lay barren, arid, crops dying
The ribs of the rotting corpses protrude, ooze a unbearable stench
Of the political system gone to the goons
Half the families raped, the other half plundered
By the collectors, magistrates, civic representatives and police
The rest dogged to death at dying corporate
Often the speakers and leaders invoke a fight, communal, lingual
Political, social , anti social
We have a lot of Mumbai, Gadchiroli, bengaluru
Of local dacoits, hand in glove with the politicians, and police
Only to rot and die and kill others in their useless pursuit
Of fame and money, they sleep with someone,
Abuse and then sleep there again
The system is nothing but a sack full of whores
Some elected through force, others win by ignorance
We criticize; a film made, a wrong portrait, a wrong relation
What have we given back, what have we; as “WE’ done
Nothing, I exclaim when I look within
The country called a mother by us,
Raped over and over by our shameless deeds
I only wish she turns numb, for her pain is not ours any more to share
There is only a twinkle in the eyes of the politician
It’s the chair resting on her , one leg through her heart
Like a stake, only this time the vampire killed the light.