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A Terror Attack On My Dinner
AR (11.01.89 / India)

A Terror Attack On My Dinner

They serve out news on a nice lacquered table,
And when you’re ready with your food,
Hand in midair,
Just about to pop that little chicken lollypop in your mouth,
Fatefully the screen comes alive,

With pictures of burning buildings,
Scarred but beautiful nevertheless,

Death tolls flashing,
But all they mean are numbers dancing,
All they do is confuse the mind,
Boggle the senses to a point,
Where you begin to feel numb.

Can people be mere numbers?
If I die tomorrow,
Is that all I’ll be?
A difference between a 122 and a 123?
Ah! But we must be thankful,
We escaped it today.

The much looked forward to feast,
Ah! to throw aside the tensions of the day,
Put your feet up and munch on those yummy tit bits,
A domestic delight,
Now you wish you could afford it,
As mothers cry for lost children,
And fathers mourn silently the bravery of their sons,
And what it has cost them;

Each of them hides, shuffles, looks away,
For in their eyes you see the pain,
They think they can hide.

To come back to the dinner,
How strangely things can change in a few blinks,
You look at it,
You look away,
You look back and poof!
It’s gone.

My pretty little table with the flowery table mat,
Now a war zone.
For sure enough,
Don’t I see a little missile being fired?
It lands in my kebab,
The little rice in the Biryani,
Run around with hand grenades,
They hide behind the potato and fire,
The mutton rolls and evolves into a tanker,
It collides and swaggers and there it is trudging slowly towards me,

I get up.
I cannot stand it anymore,
Someone will pick up the food later;

Television switched off,
Plug pulled out,
I envelop myself in soft quilts and try to sleep,
Bodies of children pile up in my dreams,
And mothers look dazed,
Unable to cry.

I wake up and walk towards the desolate TV set,
And sit there sad, but glued,

Brain damage,
That’s what they serve on a nice lacquered table;

But you can’t turn away
Try as you might,
There’s no way you can escape it.

They serve brain damage on pretty pink tables,
When you eat,
When you sleep,
They’ll follow you,
When you think you’ve finally escaped,
There they are.

And that is all humanity can do for you.

User Rating: 3,3 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 1

Rudyard Kipling

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Comments (1)

A great poem about electronic media's assault on humanity in this modern era of life. The title of the poem is very catchy......10/10.