TSL Pandorathon Prompt May 17th done - Satire on present Indian English poetry writing scene

 TSL Pandorathon's prompt The Cauldron Speaking in the Nocturnal May 17th Santosh Bakaya May 17th

Mack and his Beths

To the wood of Indian English poetry then I came

"Where a cauldron of unholy loves sang about my ears."

'Wicked wizard in white', I watched with unholy glee

Them cook up the broth and brew of so-called great Indian English Poetry

On the top will float Gitanjali in translation, they cackled

He is the only one who got a Nobel, see

Not that they had read Gora, unlike me,

Or understood it

But only that they came from the same neck of the woods or tongue

The cauldron hissed and sputtered. The fire under it grew warm

They threw it in, as it was light enough to float to the top

We need a Dalit for seasoning, so Namdeo Dhasal in translation is in

We need a kind of Christian, so let us have Jayanta M

A Brahmin convert stews well

The semi Anglo or Catholic can be Jerry Pinto

We need a Muslim, it can be Sahir in translation, presently

We need someone to talk of tribals, like Mahashweta Debi, though that is prose

We must look and speak like democracy. The fire now grew real hot!

And a couple of foreigners who quote the Gita, please!

Rest can be Left, or Centre or Right, or might

Throw in a few women to stir the pot with a little blight

Call one the Nightingale of India and the other behind her back

A Nympho and also say she lost it, you know, at the end

When she became a Muslim, so let's still call her Das.

Add a few Parsis for garnishing

And a Jew, measure for measure!

But as for the main set

Make sure they are all Brahmins

Kshatriyas and Vaishyas

Who think they know English

Better than the rest

(Only that they don't!)

-Don't you know that democracy is majoritarian or the minority with power? -

But don't forget, ne'er forget

"We are Siamese" multiplied, "if you please."

The three witches, or muses

Laughed uproariously

Double trouble cause now, cauldron, to boil, and bubble

They evilly cackled

Deaf, Dumb and Blind their names

And the cause of the death of poet-kings

No queens, they can only be witches, except for one or two

What of the songs of the Odiyas

Or Kashmiris

Or Tamils

What of the other states of India

Don't they have their music too?

What about the Sikhs and Buddhists and Jains?

Sikhs are accounted for, we have Gulzar and Khushwant (more prose)

Ambedkar (Buddhist prose), Jain; no idea

Or of the LGBTQIA? Hoshang will do, yaar.

He adds to the Parsi set too. And, yeah, Seth.

You think they don't have their spin and spiel?

The witches of the canon say

Koshy, don't worry

You, like King Peter Pevensie, will remain

The High King of the Clear Northern Skies

Of Narnia, where there's place for you

Where the magic of fantasy reigns!

Leave the cauldron to the deaf

Blind and dumb and let it steam and simmer

The chickens will be broiled

The others will be soiled

All will be eaten

And forgotten

Time will do it spoil, so toil

For whom the bell tolls

Tomorrow and forever

Is written on the sands of time

And most of the names get lost

Washed away by the waves of centuries

Only one or two shall remain.

Rightly, or wrongly,

The rest are just pawns in our game.

While Ramanujan sells his Vedic grass/gas

I remember Nakulan

Who broke his twice born thread

Coughing out his life, lungs, and poems

And the spittoon (kolambi)

Full of blood.