'Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony.' - Mahatma Gandhi

A nest of conniving snakes
A government run
By people who are barely human beings;
'How do you sleep at night?'
Is what I would ask.
'After drinking expensive liquor,
And on sheets made of satin and kashmir,'
Is what I would get.



Now -
After being lied to for so long
We are to believe in our nation
As a capital of culture,
And as a capital
Of all there is to admire;
How dare they,
After setting our souls on fire?
How dare they,
Tell me what to see and feel?

My criticisms, my observations,
my mind -
You may own everything else,
But you cannot own the few cubic centimetres inside my skull.
You might spend millions on it,
And on some days, you might succeed;
The wool can descend in front of anyone's eyes,
But it's not a permanent deed.



Know this -
In a world engineered by you to be fake
A few of us still see what's real
And what IS real
Is the hole where our hearts should be,
The one you oblige us to fill up
With a poisoned cup,
One filled with empty promises
And deceitful predictions.

Public opinion is writhing and shifting,
Something that is breathing, living;
The more you lie and cajole,
The more you steal control
The deeper the grave
That you are digging for everyone,
Including yourselves.



The most discordant, badly-glued together house of cards
I have ever seen;
Harmony is nowhere to be found
Amidst claims of national unity.
It is innately human to think
Of all as equal -
This is a feeling we corrupt as we grow.

What difference does it make
Of whose womb you are born
If you spend the rest of your days
In a blinding, consuming haze
Of power, abuse and of basically,
Being the cruel whip
That cracks society into motion?
What makes you think
That you and your ilk deserve more?
Others have no windows in their houses,
Not even the slightest current of air,
Yet I'm supposed to be grateful
For every written promise you tear?

*

So many ******* lies!
The truth
Hidden behind walls
Governed by well-dressed criminals
Has come out;
None of us have an excuse.
It is wise to recuse
The act of moving up the ladder
Quietly and without dissidence,
Especially when that same ladder leads
To a place where all that is good
Goes to its slaughterhouse,
To be assembled and re-synthesised
As an undead form of the soul.

**

We SAY
We are a great nation,
That we are the best
That we are the centrepiece
In everyone's palace of jealousy.
Then, if it really is so,
Why
do I
Along with so many others
Have to break my back every day?
No respite, no breaks awarded,
And for all that? I will die
Poorer than I was
When I originally started.

I have minced my words long enough -
I pity the undying souls
That inhabit your bodies
For when your physical body fails you,
The torment you have unleashed
On the souls of others
Will haunt nobody else
Except for you.