Trump

ducks

The anti-christ of politicial correctness,
The great white hope on a crusade,
The afterthought of carelessness,
The bigwig with a big wig, the arrogance in a suit,
The old man of the white house,
The twitter bird and the fat mallard,
The El nino and La nina,
The contradiction and the counter-attack,
The fall guy and the hairspray,
And yet, the strangest coincidence
Of how easy it is to trump over democracy.
The ballot is a sign of the dissonance,
When the notoriety of a candidate
Is both an attraction and distraction.
And a loud man, louder than a freight train, more
Voluble than a cicada, makes
Our hearts feel something or the other,
And what else is there but freedom to pamper us,
To decorate us with ambivalence. The frigid
American heart now looks at a mallard,
A wild duck who came from the wilderness,
Wondering did we do wrong here?
And yet how sweet is a stinking durian,
Who beautiful is the stenching rafflesia,
As the pachyderm called democracy
Takes miniature steps forward and feeds its self with
Little sovereign leaves, photosynthesizing
On their own brilliant brainwaves.
And what else can America do now,
But watch The Donald Show
Unfold in Disneyland.

America

America 2

A noteworthy event
Where a green card becomes
A greener pasture, of what it takes
For a man, who crossed the Rio Grande
And sneaked through a fence,
To know, he now has a tap root,
That when uprooted
Looks a lot like a carrot stick,
Stuck in an amber moment,
Caught between the old and the new, near and far.
The green light can do so much
But heal the plague of where,
The heart always seems to orbit,
Your first love.Your first home.

4th of July

America

The hair of a bigwig
Fly away like wings of an American eagle

While his words, they hawk emotions
Like a native Indian war cry

And the right and left, foxed, they look at
A bald eagle and a meat packer called Uncle Sam

Searching for the beauty of ambidexterity
Forgetting it is one mighty heart

That pumps blood to the right, left and middle.
And the soul of America

Sobs like a black widow near a tombstone
Looking for an escape to the grief

And Uncle Sam wears away to an
Auto immune disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis.

His own cells attacking his bones,
Disintegrating like a house of cards.

The patriots line up the streets
Holding miniature stars and stripes

A Don Henley song echoes in the heartland
Searching for Reagen’s ghost

And the question is, is it too late now?
The great white hope, looks bigger than Moby Dick

And still there are no snake charmers
Or antidotes to a lost cause. The fangs

Look mightier than Mount Rushmore,
And greed, like the venom, crippling

Everything alive. The underdog, just
Like a street dog, looks for a lonely bone

To bite. One bone of freedom,
From a lone Dinosaur carcass.

4th Of July

Landscape America Skyscrapers Metropolis Manhattan
Landscape America Skyscrapers Metropolis Manhattan

A celebration of all things American.
Elise Island, the Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam
Who really was a meatpacker
Called Samuel Wilson, the power
Of community and the boldness of individuality.
And in this state of affairs
Of a nation, that shepherds the world
With compass and cartography,
Of the cosmopolitism of our own morals
– Acceptance, tolerance and respect –
What echoes from the forefathers’ tongues,
Even in the present. And in this status quo
There is nothing more endearing
Than the sovereign nation of man,
A lattice of bone, protein and blood,
Concealing inside, a chamber called a human heart,
A constitution on its own right,
Which democratizes many freedoms,
Of which, love is the principal, imploring in earnest,
The right to assembly, in the
Absence of condition.

An Inspirational E-mail from the Deep South

Ali

There are stories of inspiration
That surpass the trendy must-dos
Relayed through a click of a button
On the information superhighway.

And at the other end, lies a black teenager
Looking through the prism of time,
At the beautiful south that grew a dark courage
And painted the white squares, with color.

And through the turmoil of segregation
Cries of freedom ballooned out of laryngeal trumpets
To open gates that remained closed at best,
That you could walk through now.

And held by a long history cuffed around
The ankles, the march of buffalo soldiers edges forward
As the benign freedom of the white man,
Metastasizes through pixelated melanin.

For the transfiguration of a dream

God

donald trump

Only god gets to say
Looking in the eye with a little arrogance,
“you’re fired”, while flipping his quarter pounder hair
Like a Big Mac, striking fear through every muscle
On the chin and cheek.

And still there’s something about God
That you just cannot ignore.
Like the mogul heart and boyish twitter account,
A virile potency that shames most men his age,.
The flaming beauty sharing his bed,
An eastern-European accent that makes among
Other things, empires rise and conquer,
And a babyish chubbiness that makes
Plus-size, a little extra chin and muffin top,
And still, an endearment.

And he will always be the great white hope
Of a land that has seen decibels of brays and trumpets
Dividing a patchwork land
Both crying freedom and foul. While the seed
Of Kunta Kinte rises like the tide of the river Gambia
Demanding equality – Martin’s dream
That echoes at best, like the lonely dribble of a basketball
At the hands of a young black man
In a Washington DC court.

And God-haters will line up in the streets
In the name of science and arts
Or for the 14 year old felled by the albino trigger.
They will sing, dance, write and explore
How to make America a bunch of God hating atheists.
Forgetting for a moment that landslides
Of the heart and ballot, were once a story
In the American heartland.

And God will promise little things
How to balance opinions and cheque-books
While the polls see-saw. Storming on
Like a Walmart cart on a Friday night
Opening up like a packet of Lays chips
And watering the flower bed of the American economy
Long before taking time to smell the blooms.

And God is everywhere.
He is on CNN and Fox, on the church nave,
On twitter, in every sensitive issue
That needs some political incorrectness,
– Some long-needed honesty –
On the lips of every refugee and drug mule
And on the long road to recovery
Of mistakes made long ago.

And they say Moby dick was a fat white whale.
So is God. Pequods will rush, Ahabs will roam
And still there’s an ocean that needs
A larger than life. One day they will say
God went through this dust bowl
And made it into a promise land.
And protecting the ten commandments
Of the great American constitution
Will be his greatest redemption.

And there’s something sharp about a God
Who drives the message in like a golf cart.
And knows when to play the trump card.
And heaven is just a little oval office
And command central, from where
He will send angels and thunderbolts
To the great turquoise playing field.
And do wonders with the hearts
That need moving.

And bridge he will, everything symbolic
About America, The tint and the shade
The ghettos and the mansions
The sleeping and the sleepless
While stalemates slowly turn to landslides.

And there’s nothing ironic about
That beautiful autumn day in November
When fate wished America

“Godspeed”.

America

Landscape America Skyscrapers Metropolis Manhattan

They look North
And they see a welfare system
Of a generous maple leaf nation.
The sugar maple destinies of Syrian refugees
Slinking through Ataturk’s ambit
Through little geometries in Cappadocia.

They look South
They see mules stashed with babies
And fetuses, crossing the Chihuahua dessert
Plodding on cracked earth
Crawling through a little hole in a wired fence.
For a rendez-vous with Lady Liberty

They look West
They see the great ocean,
Nicknamed “peacekeeper”, an oxymoron of sorts,
Where great battles were once fought
On atolls and harbors
A dominion that acquiesces to forgive
And retains no memory

They look East
They see beds of beefy Atlantic Salmon
Outnumbering the sea plankton,
Now embellished with their Genetically Modified
Sisters and brothers, filling trawlers
With the catch of the ocean

And they look within
And they see two hands playing a piano
A piece, an opus, a score of little harmony
Where the privileged and the marginalized
Are at war, in a battle of color and disenchantment
Where a mosaic of 50 states are glued together
By the great promise of freedom

And years back,
Yankee Doodle sang of Uncle Sam
And the great patriots, of a nation like no other.
And America is still great, perhaps even the greatest;
For there is nothing greater
Than the sheer dissonance of democracy
Slaying the silent tyrant, Peace.