Red Poverty

Posted in Poetry by Karthick RM on June 11, 2010

Born in misery,
and red poverty,
Comrade! Our life
is not our own property.

Perennially deprived,
perpetual pain,
this oppressive system,
driving me insane.

I till the land,
I slog like an ox,
I sweat under the sun,
I sleep on the rocks.

Rain doesnt deter me,
neither does the storm,
the coldest of winters,
does me no harm.

But I the tiller,
hold no right to the soil,
for tyrants of the system,
I waste my toil.

Pushed to the limits
by the pangs of hunger,
frustration with the system,
turning into anger.

I challenged the system,
I picked up the gun,
branded a rebel,
but now I see the sun.

Death doesn’t scare me,
I’ll die for you – Comrade!
To end your misery
and red poverty.

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2 Responses

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  1. PC said, on June 11, 2010 at 11:35 pm

    Why don’t you fight an election, Comrade?

    • Karthik RM said, on June 12, 2010 at 1:29 am

      Elections in a bourgeios democracy are process in which the workers are allowed once in 5 years to decide which representative of the ruling class will repress them through the parliament. So observes Lenin.

      Btw, India isnt even a proper bourgeios democracy.

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