This one is dedicated to, Rathindra Kuruwita: friend, journalist, fraud Marxist, Capitalist.
You have always cheated me
Using me for your petty ends,
And though it could be
That you’re a gift to me which heaven sends,
In the end analysis, you deserve a spank
Or a bullet through your head at point blank.
With a plaint tea through a stained strainer they pour,
Sitting by a lousy Grandpass tea joint’s door,
Your fake love with a false tooth on the show,
You tell me of how opiumless flowers grow,
Or the rhythm of the breath as lovers come…. or go,
Propounding theory of things you hardly know,
Then tell me I am a good boy: “machan, write some more”.
With a friend like you I need no foe.
Rathindra, Kuruwita, — whatever — Mitta,
When the deed is done you no longer KIT yeah?
Though whatever you do I remain yours sincerely true,
The day ain’t far that I am so gonna shit ya.
And on that day when God’s final judgement is passed,
He himself will tell you that you’re capitalist assed.