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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