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This is what we call Indian ingenuity –
All scam records are wiped clean;
One helluva decisive conspiracy,
On fire raging in Mantralaya we’re keen
To know, and wonder about the timing.
In one masterstroke that destroys,
All scam related documented ploys,
But still no one at all is really whining.
For nowadays, even spectators appreciate
Slimy, cunning innovation that may grate
Of a deviousness that’s quite chilling,
A moral turpitude long simmering.
Fifteen were injured and two died,
But in Kali Yug, that’s a small aside.
Now even the Left is divided on
The issue of Pranab’s candidature.
And the CPM sees a new dawn;
Its anti Trinamool stance is miniature.
This is what the Left is reduced to:
A house divided, agenda-less,
Eliciting a strange queasiness;
A marginal future will have to do.
Again in the news is Kapil Sibal.
The HRD minister fails to sell,
For all IITs a common entrance test,
For each thinks they are the best.
We have this knack, I sometimes think,
Each to our own, even if we sink.
For we are an easy prey of gleeful sufferers
Stoned in a patriotic cage for victims,
A tolerant fatuous bunch of duffers,
Weighed under idiotic self-limiting dictums.
As a country we’ve on shortages grown,
Afflicted deeply by a starvation syndrome,
Burdened under it, we soundlessly groan,
Snatching in response, or living on loan,
Hungrily devouring power and position,
Steal before it exhausts, the driving notion.
It’s the insecure fear of missing and losing.
Grabbing, snatching, and greedily consuming,
We’re agriculturists lost and confused amid industry.
Ensnared completely by ritualistic astrometry.