Contemporary Literary Review India | Print ISSN 2250-3366 | Online ISSN 2394-6075 | Impact Factor 8.1458 | Vol. 9, No. 2: CLRI May 2022

Shuvam Dewanjee

God to the Guillotine

Case for frauds and a box of words empty

With bards in cages, acting like sages

He comes to lay the stones of bigotry

To be reviled in history's pages.

The diplomat hid in montane forests

While the royal carpet reeked of petrol

The vicious guards taxed pain and made arrests

People with slit throats were more in control.

Hang those who cry for war till the rope breaks

Overthrow the masters once saluted

The people will wage war for their own sake

Once armed, they will never be defeated.

Terror for one and hope for the other

A storm's gathering where frondeurs have been

The leaders face the wall my brother

It's time we send God to the guillotine.

The Voiceless Woman

You walk into the room, it’s dimly lit

She’s naked and you say who’s that woman

You’re confused and she says where is it

Where’s what, she shows you the bills in your hand.

You ask if she’s been here for long

She daren’t remember even if she can

You don’t know what’s happening all along

How many have slept here below this fan.

You say how does it feel to be a freak

To live with tattered sheets and sleeping pills

She smiles and hands you the relief you seek

What good is death when it’s your touch that kills.

She expects you to leave and settle the check

No one has respect, they’re waiting in line

But she’s drowning in pain up to her neck

Don’t stop now, the safe’s filling up just fine.

Harbinger of Change

He was walking home in his worn-out shoes

His workplace did not need him anymore

He knows well he has paid more than his dues

They wanted money and showed him the door.

He’ alive and no longer on their side

From the bus-stops to universities

They were alive and kicking in his mind

With eyes open he soon knew the disease.

He was no more than a puppet for them

Now free of strings he gathered by the stairs

Now will he give-up or will he condemn

Birds chirped change, revolution’s in the air.

Why would they care at all how many die?

It’s only a number on a spreadsheet

They have plenty to spare, they can get by

Some dead and some dying, they’d never meet.

No matter what they say or what they try

The veil’s gone and no truth, it’s all a lie

With your puppets and money try and buy

Look up, it’s freedom written in the sky.

Shuvam Dewanjee is a writer from Kolkata, West Bengal. Educated in Sociology from Presidency University, Kolkata; he writes in both English and Bengali. His works involve social, political, and literary themes and have been published in various journals and magazines such as Muse India Literary Journal and Golden Cauldron Literary Magazine among others.

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