With
Twitter and Facebook
And
useless alleys and Jantar Mantar,
Which
were benevolently left out of Section 144,
Allowing
people the small mercies
Of
boasting, roasting, masticating,
Everyone
has developed the bad habit
Of
having an opinion.
The
evening smoke
Rising
from the corn on the cob
Wraps
your heads in a sensuous aura
And
you think you are the bosses-
The
bosses on everything
From
malnutrition to the moon.
Well,
I hate to be the one to break it to you
But
you are not experts.
It
takes a certain level of expertise
To
understand why there is no alternative
Why
people must be killed
Why
children must be maimed
Why
rapes must be committed
Why
lawmakers must flout the law.
It
takes hard work, blood and sweat,
Erasure
of histories and creation of fresh ones under tight deadlines
To
develop the nuanced understanding
That
with great power comes great arbitrariness.
If
those in positions of responsibility
Don't
abort the questions brewing in others
They'd
be reminded in a flash of their own,
And
of memories of others in similar positions
Who
tried to be careful custodians of power
And
started wondering
Who
they were
Responsible
for
Accountable
to
Whose
purpose they were fulfilling
Whose
they had pledged to.
They
then faced
Sleepless
nights, arrests, enquiries,
And
the feel of a bullet injected inside their temple with their own
hand.
A
wise man learns from others' mistakes.
The
wise men of today know
That
to peer too deep into the sockets of the skull in your hand
Invites
the risk of your skull soon being in another hand
They
know the only way to keep their head is to bury it in the sand.
But
you, all of you worthy of such men's contempt and disgust, you
just don't understand.
