the hero of our timeA Poem by vivekanand
we are faceless..
our drivers wear black masks.. a noose dances in front of our eyes.. eerie and hallucinating.. our time is a strange one, my friend... it is a gambler ... our laments fall aside in the saloons of this city with locks of dead hair.. our genitals too fall off uncared for..... when we have begun to produce robots for progeny... what are these vestiges for... our paths wind long in the shade of green trees towards goals fixed by someone else for someone else.. it could also be the national highway you are now standing upon.. it was constructed tearing asunder the heart of a silent village you are standing on its corpse... our time is a gamer, dear friend... the hero of our times is the smiling guy bending over for the whippings he gets on his bare back.. he pays in silver coins for these gifts without a grumble.. watches without pain bull dozers flatten his hard earned house.. cleans the private parts of the men who piss on his well of drinking water.. our time is a gamer... its cross section reveals roads that are mirror images on which the faceless men walk indistinguishable.. our time walks over the unheard wail of the last living poet the last man of his dying mother language.. his poems lie by.. unread .. un translated.. a noose dances in front of us, eerie and hallucinating.. the farmer who died in it had a FACE .. which we have now forgotten CONVENIENTLY.. in memory of the millions of farmers who committed suicide this year in a rapidly developing economy called india.. which has all the time and space for antilas and taj hotels...
© 2010 vivekanandReviews
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2 Reviews Added on December 31, 2010 Last Updated on December 31, 2010 Authorvivekanandchennai, tamilnadu, IndiaAbouttrying to find out seriously what i am.. i trained in medicine.. neither had the expertise, confidence nor the desire to move on as a doctor.. preparing for civil services more..Writing
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