The Martians came knocking, door to door,
yesterday at Ashok Nagar Third Avenue,
looking for the Boozhe who had escaped custody.
They found two mottled-livery Pamponelle,
A Zubrische with broken Flinzhe,
a mock-drille samper temperit-
and more, but no Boozhe.
Frustrated, they crisped a watchdog,
reducing it to a whimpering puppy.
They rendered the trees, forking
its branches and scrimmaging
the sodden leaves and water-valves.
The police have preferred a complaint.
Our Odd Minister, called his Even Ministers,
to an emergency meeting in the Cream Pavilion,
after which they emerged to the flashlights of television
to condemn strongly this latest outrage
while giving assurance of the Government's resolve
to leave no stone unturned
till the fugitive Boozhe are apprehended
and handed over to the Martians.
when you type some of the words in stanza one in google search bar you are redirected to this page.
ReplyDeleteand the poem. a fine creation. my immediate thoughts; i thought of the indian government with its incapacities; a scenario where might without its justification is termed right by those unwilling to act upon their own sense of frailty.
the martians will obviously rule with an iron hand.
Happy you liked this one.
ReplyDeleteStarted out as nonsense- the first line occurred on its own, and then the rest were built upon that.
The last para, obviously is political in tone- but the difference is, I was thinking how Pakistan would sound in some years time if the international community put more pressure and they had to respond with the screw that keeps tightening up turn by turn :(