Brute Minority Poem by Ananta Madhavan

The rage of the infant is violent.
He screams his manifesto of denouncement,
His kicks injure the atmosphere,
And his hands, working like pistons, would
Pommel the world to pulp, if they could.


The rage of the snail is different -
Pathetic and impotent.
The teasing stick that blocks his path
Drives him into his spiral castle where
A thousand schemes of vengeance sizzle in his wrath.


But look at that crack who dares
Defy the million. How boldly he declares
His own opinion! Come, let us not spare
This Enemy of the People: persecute the man!
Let his grow fat upon his anger if he can.


But how can this rage prevail,
This rage of the babe and the snail?