Dogmatism
The Marxist comet burns
At a distance of many light years,
The comrade looks up for his reflection
On the mirror,
Cataract obstructs the light that
Falls on the blades of grass
That moss over the tombstones
Of the martyrs.
My psychological lynching
(written after watching Shankar’s “I”)
I was watching a movie the other day
the hero hailing from the slums
speaks in an uncouth slang,
his Angle Saxon girlfriend sets in right
with a tight slap!
From then on
The hero sways in sync with his heroine,
a paler version of his former self.
Keep the body, take the mind.
The psychological lynching of my soul.