here's my first post on tvmcrusader
Its a poem written by me last yr. Its about the US atrocities in the abu ghraib concentration camps in Iraq.
*********************** THE RAP FROM THE BUSHES*********************
W'rap' it up, 'cause here they come
The so called champions of peace
The self-proclaimed saviours of the world
Scramble for your life, not to be trampled under their boots
Run like hell, they gonna have fun with their belts
Tighten your suits, you cutes, before they loot
‘cause what they loot is not your booty
Hounding you not for your money
Binding you, only for your body.

What they hear is rape without an ‘e’
That’s Rhythm And Poetry
From the foul mouth of Eminem, the Detroit rapper
Or through the shady voice of Shaggy.
But what they do is rap with an ‘e’
That’s Reckless And Preposterous Enjoyment
For the ravenous-minded vultures,
Fed with obscenity right from birth.
Monsters they are, but not of the usual kind
A living shame for even the real ones
They are boys from hell, here to build one.

Lick their boots, you needn’t do
But sip their closet, they’d make you to.
And here they start a new kind of market,
Where you can trade oil for current.
Electricity, they’ll give for u a handful
Not through wires, but in your bare hands
Maybe on the whole body, for the more fortunate
Heard of food for oil, but not current for oil
That’s the way the world is heading,
A killing kick for a loving kiss.
Those guys who wept watching Rambo’s onscreen hardships
Now laugh all the way at your plight.

Today starts the new soap opera
Neither at Broadway nor at West End
But on the innumerable tabloids
Splashed with paparazzi snaps,
Of those dark yet ‘famous’ rooms
Of where else but Abu Ghraib,
More of an Abu Grave,
Where you are having the ‘time’ of your life.
Gold bearing trees sprout
On the tabloid head’s backyard
With your blood & sufferings as fodder
They rake-in millions with your rapin’ stories
They care only about the trees, not for the fodder
So what becomes of you?
Your body in pains, your life in ruins
Where have u to go, whom have u to see?

But take hope, my dear Iraqis
What they did to u, is what they have done
All these years, from times immemorial
In the prosperous land, that was my India
Which was bubbling with wealth, when they came
Eventually leaving it in a state strugglin’ to find its feet
That’s the Western tradition, their legacy & their history
Which has only stories of their innumerable conquests
Of battles of gore, projecting phony heroes
Of their incalculable wealth, gained from mindless loots.

That’s the Whites, Bush or Blair,
George or Louie, whoever they are,
One thing’s for sure
They’re perpetual killing machines.
So humans, if there’re any left,
Make way for them
Let them go marching
There’s that inevitable doom
Waiting for them in hell’s corridor
It’s sure that no one lives forever
Likewise, no one rules forever
As the Wachowski’s would say,
“Everything that has a beginning has an end”

Now its time for us to rise
And bury the ashes of past wounds
Let’s hope for a new day
When the whole world ‘shines’,
Like what India ‘did’ some centuries back.
When the world order changes for good,
And the conquered becomes the conqueror.


Praveen.S.R
04/05/04

Thanks to The Hindu Newspaper for providing me with the inspiration to write this poem. Its the news item that appeared on The Hindu describing the Colonial atrocities at the concentration camp at Abu Ghraib in Iraq that made me write this poem.