A Defeated Drama

Today India boasts itself to be a ‘democracy’. Well, how ‘democratic’ is it? With politicians finding ways to attain supremacy over people and parties, they continue to stow away people’s opinions and demands. It’s ironic that our opinions are rejected by the ones we elect. Elections are a time when we are pampered like a goat bound for an Eid’s feast, while our fate awaits. Moreover, the taxation that comes from our pockets is unassumingly swallowed by these parties for their own aspirations, who are hungry for power. This poem is a dig at the flippancy of Indian politics and how we are the ones who always keep waiting for what we really want - to be heard.

A defeated drama

We say we are born out of the same dust,

Ha! Nope, it’s rust mistaken for pixie dust,

grinding our feet to the ground,

it’s a bunch of human brains mooning around.

A bunch to a bucketful,

we are all part of a ‘puppet pull’

they hit at our strings and stroke our heads,

we nod and adhere to the seemingly eggheads.

“Take our cash, take as much!” we say,

‘But don’t eat it for lunch, we want our work to-day!’

We hope, we fail, we see it’s done little,

our faith tonight sleeps cold and brittle.

A day I saw, freedom and faith fought,

otherwise Indian friends, these guys were tied in a knot,

for faith blamed freedom it had lost its gist,

 and freedom blamed faith that it had ceased to exist.

For the netaji’s podium solicits-

for our faith in their promises and myths-

to falsely encourage our freedom-

it’s not of the people, for the people anymore,

it’s a fight of the overpowering and the rivalry scores.

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Written by Arshia Jain for The Literary Club at PSG