Differing Harvests

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The farmer grows golden grain

The state sprouts spikes;

The farmer lets the waters run,

The state builds deadly dykes.


The farmer sends his sons to man

The army and the police;

The state calls him a terrorist

For protesting his cause in peace.


The state’s walls and fatal  wires

Secure the republic

From ‘we the people’ who they say

Are not part of it.


The state is a democracy

Says Authority;

Democracies must not tell the truth

About state and society.


Citizens who make comment

May do so only if

They praise the government,

Or go jump off the cliff.


Foreigners who do not our perfection see

Are enemy India-haters;

Their gratuitous interventions

Prove them conspirators.


Our children are not malnourished,

Our women are not anaemic;

We have no poor people,

No Indian is ever sick.


A government in majority

Can never be in the wrong;

Such must be our compliance,

Such must be our song.


Our wisdoms are hoary,

The world must listen to us;

Our exceptionalism is greater

Than that of the United States.


We are the shining city

Atop the Himalayas;

The farmer who now is misled

Will surely vote for us.

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