Applied Waste Land. Poem by Sk. Nurul Huda

….. Shantih shntihi.....hinHsaT….....…
Oh! April you are still the cruelest month for the year
For not reminding us of the religious pilgrimage,
As the Ramadan,
But to have a little effect to compel us to take a truce
To kill our brothers and sisters and parents and children
For which they call us terrorist (we become proud….) :
So April and Ramadan are the cruelest months to us,
The terrorists.

Here we are another group not so dangerous like them
We say of peace and hate them but our hating is full of fame;
Why we hate them? We explain and make it plausible,
We drop bombs and bullets on them as water from a waterfall;
As side effect some so called civilians of our group are lost,
We confer martyrs and make monuments of high cost;
……………kill them and live and let live…tit for tat,
We are not lesser………we are the DOG if they be CAT.

In which group you are?
You cannot go so far.
A vote you must have to cast,
So thumb it which you fit, at first.
There is only two groups & NOTA not,
So you are either my enemy or friend hot.

Now come and let both of us the oath to take
For 'The World's Original Constitution' not fake
As Indians did noisily err conferring on them their
And sure ours is going to be more and more fair:
'WE THE HUMAN BEINGS of the world white or black
Having solemnly resolved to constitute the WORLD
Into a sovereign WASTE, fatal and full of potential
Nuclear bombs and weapons to make it hell and
Endanger its all citizen believing in capitalism or
Communism or any-ism.

In our assembly of round table this day the
Beginning of 21st century do hereby adopt,
Enact and give to ourselves this constituency.

We follow this point to point…….
It is proved when we say-
All are equal all nations are equal
It is democracy all nations are though wall
All have the right to produce display arrows
The heap of the bombs may be wide or narrows.

It is proved again conducting mock-trial common
That is fighting falsely as a father plays with his son,
Here we apply our polluted and wasted hearts
Carrying with nuclear and marine carts
To the land to the water to the underground to the sky
All are ranged all are caught by radars of modern wifi.

Let us chant the songs of forty seven (47) ,
Say, not shantih shantih and shantih like a hen;
Our head is high, high and very high
Shoot shoot and shoot -hey, you the modern guy.


©Sk Nurul Huda for-'SONGS OF 47'