By Ekasmayi Naresh
Image Credits: Pinterest
Circa situations sans catastrophes,
when numb were we to such dire possibilities –
that death drying up our airways to a drought
or rendering our days darker
than the blackness which the malaise brought,
would be but a regular happening
and life’s circus would go on,
apathy’s lull drowning
out the faint shrieks of sorrow,
this night’s tidium met inevitably by another dawn.
In that untouched time of normality
this circus put on a cheerful show –
the ringmaster, more benevolent then,
the crowd’s voice, their plaudits and their jeers
still admitted in the spirit of spectatorship,
money made useless,
penury ploughed into the populace,
But cheered on by the unfounded optimism
of the detainees of this dictatorship.
The show housed other tricksters too
traitors to another camp,
vying for their moment in this circus tent’s triumph
trapeze artists swinging between sides
with unparalleled ease,
trouncing the truth with metaphor and myth;
Firebreathers, spewing sensationalization
alleging acute threat from those outnumbered
while the prevailing faction
kept chosen castaways,
within their borders, encumbered.
The main act reserved
for the handlers and the beasts in their care
yet for years their only handle
was on the bulls and the bears.
But now, they steal the show
the unassuming audience
unaware of suffering a blow
buys into the act
ruin reigns relentlessly in this pathetic province
but is treated as a matter of fact.
So how do such starkly surreal scenes
from that circus, from so many months ago
level up to the present offerings?
– the acts have changed,
but destining the audience to doom
continues to be successfully arranged.
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