I noticed things about you, sometime back,
and mistakenly thought you were changing track.
You had left off murdering in and out of season
people who were rational, those who spoke of reason,
and turned to bashing up the beef-eating kind
on highways with a hurrah for cattle and their kind.
Or so I thought, how wrongly, but sense dawns late
as we ruminate on this mob psychology of hate.
So far you guys were murdering dalits and hide-flayers
Or Muslims who kept meat in their frigidaires.
Now you are back to square one; wrong again,
(thinking about you guys is a real pain,
Thought itself goes askew thinking of you,
It’s like a five-set match at Flushing Meadows, phew!).
Now you’re going for editors and the press
Those who oppose your fiats and meat-avenging zest,
Those who speak for Rohingyas driven into the sand,
roaming river to river, rift to rift, land to land.
Tolerance is a sin in your lexicon,
You think, my darlings, you can plough on and on
through mayhem and political porn
Ever occurred to you, you could be wrong?
And that black bands and scars could discolour your saffron dawn?
