Now the frustration shows in various ways –
Protestors are now knocking any door,
Where the nameplate authoritatively says,
That inside is a privileged government bore.
Now they’ve landed at the President’s place,
And made sure that they engaged the police,
Facing lathis, tear gas water cannons with ease
Like a pugilist inviting blows to his face.
When night fell, and pushed till India Gate,
There after regrouping, without abate
They closed the day, with a score satisfying.
Thirty-five were injured but still not belying
Any let up in the agitation, that is now turning into habit,
Only an ass (they are) will fail (they do) to see the revolution in it.
They would bleed, then return from hospital
Back to protest. They would vandalize buses,
Damage property; anything handy they would hurl:
Bottles, shoes, bangles, coins, stones and choruses,
Where the word ‘revolution’ was oft used like a cry.
And every time the police cracked on them,
They would return with a vengeance that would stem,
From the need to tire the state and to try
The patience, and indeed to even provoke
Bloodshed, that will then go further on to stoke
The passions and fervor, which they seem to want
To remain, not ebb, till the historical tryst and taunt
Brings to its knees the so-called ‘state’ and mis-named ‘nation’;
Till the old wilts, and new shoots spring from the agitation.
A UP minister with a criminal background,
Had a demented take of an illiterate imbecile,
That protestors (who the police’s trying to pound)
Are doing all this for publicity, is his spiel.
This comes from the mouth of Raja Bhaiyya,
A don with eight criminal cases registered so far,
And a shining and apt example of an a_se ajar,
Through which such talent taunts the abasia,
Of our ‘hard working’ picture perfect democracy,
Where criminals arrive with audacious abbacy.
The gruesomeness is more in hinterlands cold:
In Vadodara, a man has raped a two year old.
The rapes that are reported, is the tip of the berg,
That we are ‘developing’ is present continuous humbug.