The Doubting Child
How will I be born next. will I be human
And will I be a dear son of such a loving mother?
Where will I be born next, will it be lively
And will there be cricket and will i be a batsman?
It all happened so fast. i could not finish the run
The bullet hit me straight on my face, and i fell down
All dear memories of eight small years started fading,
As my elders continued to fill their minds with rage.
Were Thou as hurt by those wicked carttons,
As much as we, on this earth, seem to be?
Was it all worth my childhood and my youth.
What did I live for and what did I die for?
I'm the saviour of our culture.
I'll punish the artist who painted our goddesses nude.
And get the sculptures in Khajuraho clad in sarees,
I'll harass the actor who spoke of premarital relationship
And outcast Kunti, Satyavati, Shakuntala and others.
I'll thrash the couples romanicing on the streets
And delete krishna leela and radha from all our texts
See. I'm the saviour of our culture.
Five years ago i walked intoa restaurant
Full of people eating, drinking and talking
So lively, so much fun, and so inviting
A perfect setting for a perfect evening.
I went to a lady and asked for a drink
She was beautiful and she was happy
Having a great time with her friends
A perfect choice for a perfect drink.
She refused me gracefully the drink
Upon which i casually took out the revolver
And shot her dead at point blank rnnge,
A perfect shot from a perfect gun.
I walked out with head held high and left in my car
The other people hurriedly finished thier dinner,
Left for home and forgot they'd even been there
A perfect way to lead a perfect life in peace.
Some of them found it a bit difficult to forget,
I explained to them the beauty of life ahead,
Reminded of their duties they agrred to forget
A perfect climax to a perfectly harmonious act.