I know not what this means. It can’t be what it seems.
My tiny brains got a crater. I’m lying here in an incubator.
The doctor smiles and says he’ll come see me later.
Because he’s got to prostrate before the Gorakhpur dictator.
I’m not a hater.
How can I be a hater? When across this plastic coffin I see my mother
Who’s waiting to smother. Me with her affection.
Offer me her protection. Take me away from this affliction.
Just give me a chance to ask my own questions.
Cause I heard Daddy say that I got Encephalitis.
I’m not being righteous. But 25000 before me, had to fight this.
And they lost. Their lives tossed.
The BRD Hospital, with its resources exhausted.
So, I ask why?
Because you knew. Haggling over the bribes for O2.
You did an inspection, but there was no intervention.
You focused on your own ascension. No attention to prevention.
No cure for the very pure. Sure.
You gave sound bites as the babies turned white.
But it’s alright.
It’s alright because “Hum Mandir wahin banayenge.
Humse jo alag hai, usse bhagayenge. Jalayenge.
Ek Sabak sikhayenge.
300 foot lambi moorti pe pooja karayenge.
Jab tak 25000 bachhon ki awaz ko sab bhool jayenge”
You won an election. Beating odds against natural selection.
Filtering bloodlines to achieve perfection. Weeding out the Muslim infection.
My feeble voice cannot roar. Against the noise of your holy war.
Your media whores who underscore. There is no balance left to restore.
Tell me. Is it because my parents are poor? The faceless masses that can be ignored?
A vote-bank. And nothing more?
My life has faded. Look what you created.
A 9-day old who’s already jaded. Are you elated?
On Judgement day, my Emperor, you will be naked.
Walking across the tiniest tombs. Walking past empty wombs.
Remember then my lowly cry. Remember, my last words were ‘Why?’