Big Brother’s Cousins

Big Brother has cousins
All over the world
In every place
Where flags are unfurled.
Some older, some younger
But all of them
With that Big Brotherly Hunger
To be the one who
Is looked up to
Pedestaled too.
Or it’s
Off with your head
And his and hers
And of course that of
Comic writers of verse.

Look at the Russian cousin
And what he is doing
Though every other cousin
Knew that trouble was brewing
None of the European cousins
Lifted a finger
To prevent the invasion

The British cousin was
Partying late
Ambushed by cake
And Partygate
His Russian cousin’s invasion
Came as a welcome diversion
And he mouthed platitudes
To placate multitudes
But what did he do?
Did he welcome the
With open arms?
No no
The gates of his country
Were firmly shut
With many an If and But
And perhaps and maybe
And he passed the buck to
His sidekick secretary.

The American cousin
Shilly-shallied live
And threatened the worst
And ranted and cursed
But the most he would do
Was a slap on the wrist and
A rap on the knuckles
As if the Russian cousin would buckle
To such pressure
As a rap on the knuckles and
A slap on the wrist
He just unveiled his iron fist
And laid waste
To city and country
People and place.

Our very own Big Brother
Observed maun vrat loudly
And walked the neutral tightrope proudly
His chhapan inch ki chhaati he declaimed
Would protect him from
His blue-eyed and blonde cousins’
Dirty war games.

It is a war crime
Everyone has said
We’ll take him to court
And make him serve time.
This is just Hot Air
And every cousin knows it
War is itself a crime
And each Big Brother condones it.
They delight in the wreckage
For the bucks it will bring
When restructuring happens
And and almost everything
Has to be rebuilt from scratch.
They’ll be there to help
To help and to fleece
Two sides of the coins
They pocket with ease
War profiteers each one
They should be put behind bars
But who has the wherewithal
When they have the powers?

So remember the promises
Kept and unkept
Remember the stuff
That under the carpet was swept
Remember the speeches
Remember the speakers
And remember the difference
Between means and ends
And in good times
(And bad)
Of fair-weather friends.

This poem first appeared on Sunder and Sonati’s blog, Anhad Ka Baaja. Read the original here

Sunder and Sonati have been living and growing a forest on a small piece of land in Thekambattu in rural Tamil Nadu for the last 20 years. You can read their blogs here and here

Featured image: Pariplab Chakraborty