They did not
come here to heal,
Make no mistake
my friend, the ballot
in your hands is
not a bullet. Not even
bullets can pierce
their armour, for
they rule with fear
as we roll in
our self-dug graves.
They have found
three hundred and
seventy seven ways to
fuck us over...father,
mother, brother, son,
sister, uncle,
nothing matters
for we are all sick
and there is no
pill to kill
our pain.
They did not
come here to heal.
They did not
come hear to heal,
or hear appeals
my friend...we are
just worker ants,
marching in our
invisible striped pants.
They are not sorry
for Sori or Irom
and Kashmir's
just cash, don't be rash,
it doesn't matter if you
prefer a feast of
friends to their
giant family.
Your roof is held to
ransom and you
thank them, though
your world is broken and
Modi-fied,they did not
come here to heal.
So nine to five we
work and sing anthems,
oh so grateful,
that our slave masters
have not snatched the bread
from our mouths (till now).
Anyhow,Hashmi's fears
are unfounded,and you can
sleep easy on your bed
for there is no dream
in your head left to
die my friend, this is the end.
They did not come here to heal.
Anirban Kapil Baishya (December 12th, 2013)
