Watch over the people, brother.
There is no telling when they may
Switch from one god to the other.
Unlike our enemies who have
But one god, our ancestors
Have bequeathed us a whole spread.
However we propagate that
This is not good, we are only
Thirty some percent understood.
The bulk is still a wayward lot,
Wasting foolishly their gratuitous vote.
As of now the loyal thirty percent or so
Remain programmed to noisily argue
In favour of muscle and mayhem
Over the misery that afflicts them;
But how long may we quarantine their heads
From the intrepid truth-telling reds.
After all, politic ruses have their limits,
Even though we are fast with our gimmicks.
Unless in the long run we succeed
In teaching all to disregard petty need
Of jobs, food, shelter, clothing,
Health, education, love, brotherhood,
In favour of one language, one religion, one god,
Their passionate stupor may not last,
And they may revert to a democratic past.
None of that is good for the country,
As is well-known to the diasporic gentry
That so upholds our nationalist exertions
To promulgate our alternate versions
In the media and through harangue
To make Bharat great again after long
Centuries of a pluralist plague,
And humanist predilections vacuous and vague.
So, brother, there is work to do,
Lest the waters rise and a flood ensue.
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