The Dirty Indians! Poem by Rajendran Muthiah

When the country was rocked
in and out of Parliament
by a series of scandals,
a brutal gangrape in the capital
made the politicians of all the parties
to demand hanging till death to the criminals.

When the tribal or dalit women were teased,
molested, driven nude in the streets,
by stripping, and battering them with brooms
for cutting firewood in the forest,
daring to collect water in pitchers
from the public wells or tapes
where the secured castes live,
for demanding a decent wage-rise,
or making efforts to go out of the fenced quarries
these representatives of people didn't get provoked.

They remained calm like the mid-sea
as the law would take its course
in refusing to file the FIR,
delaying the enquiries at the court,
in delivering the just justice
and allowing the culprits to disappear.
Do honour to our speakers with thundering claps
and six foot long garlands of roses
for waking up at least now,
after a heinous crime perpetrated in Delhi
before the very eyes of the Parliament.
O my Indian! O my dirty Indian! Dirty, dirty, dirty.