The Boondoggle of Curry Eating Surrender Monkeys
“Dear Mr. Politician,
I voted for you because
democracy bid me
to choose the lesser evil.
You cried out my cause
with poise (What ploys!)
and I, too, clung on
to a hope to which
our nation is eternally damned.
Perdition can lead to denial
at the tender age of 18
when you wear your voting ink
like a 24 carat rock
and keep getting told
that YOU made the difference
regardless of the fact that
the choices were all the same.
I let go of all the scams
that pampered your Swiss account
and sojourned your affluent delegations
with my silence: the easiest choice.
I knew where you came from,
minus the criminal records,
but I thought a hundred million
would suffice to douse your greed
though I seldom understand
the need for an air bag made of gold.
And five years later
I was far more busy
and far less enthusiastic
to bother to give someone else
the same chance and privilege
that I had earlier granted.
Acceptance is the bane
to admitting mistakes.
You had the benefit of doubt.
You also had hundreds of acres of land
for each member of your family
and luxury to last seven generations.
I thought, NOW, you most certainly
will think about our welfare.
So once again the masses voted.
Our collective silence boomed
but never give birth to a voice
because all our banter was reserved
for office politics, family affairs
and abusive rants in road rage.
All the mistakes were repeated.
Democracy was consolidated.
You've come to visit me, since,
in various front page headlines
on mornings lazy enough for tea.
Speaking with a borrowed voice
in defending an outrageous choice.
Crying out against conspiracies
to malign you; I'm sure they are.
The court cases will drag
another 17 years, I fear,
until my kid will wear his ink
and I hope, then, at least then
the ring of ink doesn't feel like ash.”
VINEET KAUL is a conformist. A lethargic (wannabe) revolutionary who is mostly bored stiff or shitting bricks. The Troubadour, his alter ego, however, is the exact opposite. When in agreement they make music, write, do journalism, travel recklessly in search of something (which hopefully they'll never identify or find so that they can travel all their life), get tattoos and make + experience art in any available form. When on their own, Vineet is usually working nine to five and the Troubadour is sitting on his shoulder (like a pirate's parrot), nagging him. Vineet 'the Troubadour' Kaul is currently working on his three separate manuscripts, one of which needs help with artwork. More poems can be read at the blog: thetspeak.wordpress.com
“Dear Mr. Politician,
I voted for you because
democracy bid me
to choose the lesser evil.
You cried out my cause
with poise (What ploys!)
and I, too, clung on
to a hope to which
our nation is eternally damned.
Perdition can lead to denial
at the tender age of 18
when you wear your voting ink
like a 24 carat rock
and keep getting told
that YOU made the difference
regardless of the fact that
the choices were all the same.
I let go of all the scams
that pampered your Swiss account
and sojourned your affluent delegations
with my silence: the easiest choice.
I knew where you came from,
minus the criminal records,
but I thought a hundred million
would suffice to douse your greed
though I seldom understand
the need for an air bag made of gold.
And five years later
I was far more busy
and far less enthusiastic
to bother to give someone else
the same chance and privilege
that I had earlier granted.
Acceptance is the bane
to admitting mistakes.
You had the benefit of doubt.
You also had hundreds of acres of land
for each member of your family
and luxury to last seven generations.
I thought, NOW, you most certainly
will think about our welfare.
So once again the masses voted.
Our collective silence boomed
but never give birth to a voice
because all our banter was reserved
for office politics, family affairs
and abusive rants in road rage.
All the mistakes were repeated.
Democracy was consolidated.
You've come to visit me, since,
in various front page headlines
on mornings lazy enough for tea.
Speaking with a borrowed voice
in defending an outrageous choice.
Crying out against conspiracies
to malign you; I'm sure they are.
The court cases will drag
another 17 years, I fear,
until my kid will wear his ink
and I hope, then, at least then
the ring of ink doesn't feel like ash.”
VINEET KAUL is a conformist. A lethargic (wannabe) revolutionary who is mostly bored stiff or shitting bricks. The Troubadour, his alter ego, however, is the exact opposite. When in agreement they make music, write, do journalism, travel recklessly in search of something (which hopefully they'll never identify or find so that they can travel all their life), get tattoos and make + experience art in any available form. When on their own, Vineet is usually working nine to five and the Troubadour is sitting on his shoulder (like a pirate's parrot), nagging him. Vineet 'the Troubadour' Kaul is currently working on his three separate manuscripts, one of which needs help with artwork. More poems can be read at the blog: thetspeak.wordpress.com
