Pradip Chattopadhyay (28.01.1961 / Kolkata)
Still, Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas, the voice greets me
humbug I mutter under breath
greed hatred jealousy
only things you live with.
Keep to yourself your mirth
I sullenly brood
such lies are too heavy for this earth
done this place no good.
Relations under cloud of doubt
each soul bears a grievous injury
merriment had long gone out
the greet is just empty.
It's a pity you still find it merry
with all the injustice inequity
man classified quartered
children for food bartered.
Merry doesn't the word stink
while some choose what to drink
fuss about the flavor to savor
many reach it by thirsty miles' labor.
Merry can't hide away the glum
of human habitats in dingy slums
strewn on pavements under open sky
breathing refuses left to rot and die.
Still, Merry Christmas to you, says the voice
the time is to give and rejoice
the world though is truly what you say
You, I, We, have made it that way.
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