BADRI RAINA | Caravan Daily
A conspiracy seems afoot
To prove Moody’s wrong;
Why else would a million farmers
Capital streets throng?
They no longer seem fragmented,
Gullible, superstitious,
But bunched up as a nasty class,
Armed with awareness.
They think, having cast a vote,
They have a right to know
Why their oppression increases
The more food they grow.
They think, having cast a vote,
The government is theirs;
But they are merely pedestrians,
Destined to live with cares.
Imagine if people thought
Government was for them;
The Republic would overturn,
Root, branch, and stem.
We own Bharat Mata,
They merely till the lands;
We reap the riches of sentiment,
They scrape with their hands.
But they march in a wall of strength,
Formidable in their act;
God alone save government
When the peasant knows his fact.
Their suicidal antics having failed
To blackmail our reason,
They gather in fearsome mass
In bold and collective treason.
It is now the Prime-Time truth—
Our Ratings friends have said it—
Our advance is ahead of all,
One colossus having led it.
Let us then to Moody’s rush
For a new, canny recipe
That may yet hoodwink the mass
And enhance our longevity.
