An Enigma, You Are! Poem by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Day in and day out
insults I hurled at you -
killer, ill-bred murderer,
half-nut, Tughlaq
exterminator of races, fascist,
the worst tormentor of humanity
the world has ever seen,
eliminator of minorities
beastly, big danger to secular democracy.

Yet, at last, winning a popular mandate,
you ascended the throne in my Delhi
to lead my great country.

Yet, I didn't spare any opportunities
to malign you and criticize,
prove and conclude all your actions wrong.

And, today, when I was hoping against hope
You would bite the dust against our united alliance
of opportunistic convenience,
ill-bred foe! you stand victorious,
a mammoth Goliath riding the crest
of a tsunami of popular vote.

Having eaten the opium grown
by the famous dead and bygone bearded ones
of Russia and Europe, I complained
my ancient heritage was opiate,
drew deep, long sighs looking longingly at China,
ridiculed native scriptures, sages and their saga,
day-dreamt the triumph of class struggle,
wedlocked with communalists if it snuggled,
infiltrated well-known university campuses,
poisoned the youth with the intoxicant potion
of false revolution that promised
freedom from the freedom they possessed.

I am taken aback, dumbfounded by your victory.
My fall sure is disgraceful;
yet, your win is unacceptable,
grossly ridiculous; by habit I say so;
to change I am totally unable.
Am still trying to figure out
the reason for my rout.
Will suffering masses help their tormentor?
Will victims love their killer?
Will the downtrodden forsake teachers of revolution?

You disrobed me, made me stand naked
on this desolate highway of democracy.
Waving your lotus flag of victorious valor
as you move away to take the reins of power,
Oh, who is there to look for my red flag,
my bloody red flag of revolution,
which was blown away
in the tempest you unleashed?
Please let me wrap it around my waist,
let me shield my shame.

I heard someone say
you talked to the masses
in the language of the heart.
I can't quite figure that out,
an enigma thou art!
May I scratch my brains
that incessantly breed
class struggles with the spade
of dialectical materialism;
let me make it look like
you lost after all and seek comfort in that lie.