The love for a symbol
piggybacks a forced idea.
Too much of ‘my-ism’
often falls victim to clichés of modern politics
inside capitals and outside it.
Education doesn’t serve
when persuasion calls the shots.
Lust never fails to
enslave the moments.
The progression of time is impotent.
Its not that feet don’t need rest,
eyes don’t need freedom from soot
and tongue doesn’t relish sumptuousness.
But the villain of ‘too far’ and ‘too high’
in collusion with cowardice of ‘too low’
amidst too much noise and cacophony
knows too well
how to have dead symbols
planted on dead heads.