MUTINY

I was born here out of sheer luck,

So naïvely happy till…..I grew up.

I grew up to realize who is Me

An Indian in Today, in infamy.

They taught – Proud to be an Indian.

I ask, why so? Coz of the billions?

Mother India, are you old, are you weak?

How sad of you to have borne freaks.

Shameless they sell themselves to doom

Pretending they are keys astray the time.

Where are you – Realization of digging self-graves?

Hiding till they fall down the pits they made?

They sleep through ripe hours, curse them!

Guillotine them who took you to markets

And auctioned to the lowliest bidders.

Hide them beneath your endless grief

Barter them for dead, they are better still,

Or at least have in them your fear instilled.

But you are (have always been) a mother, I forget,

You are (or they made you) an unending regret.

Are they too many? Or just too uncanny?

They cut the branch on which they rest.

Mother you are sold! Sold to old fools

Who are asleep and use you as a tool

To ease and laze their way to the top

Deep pockets, big reaches, evil props.

Why did you, O most loving, bring me-your child?

To bear witness to them cheap madmen gone wild?

I do cry, been crying for ages; so did generations of poor, of sages.

Is your blood not boiling, I ask you all…

You who see and wait…wait for what?

Young and strong who can stand up

But choose to wait for “wise” stamp

From men with one leg in their grave

And teeth falling off, skin peeling away.

Have some shame, do what you must.

Before it is late, before too late, you must!