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In the name of the dog

Photo by Ch Kondoom
The Jackson guy said it’s the only creature
Seeing the gods in its master
And I love it when it is humbler, it is calmer
And bark away the worries of its possessor.
But one day, I saw its night of desires
Beastly it became as much as it can be
In this land of thousand masters.
Eating the shits breathlessly,
It lives so bastardly
Born in the streets, with no line of descent
In October nights when the autumn air is crispy
On the road it fornicates, without any lament
Like the commandos can kill the people
Like the prostitutes can sell their body
Like the public servants can loot the public treasury
Like the ministers can lie without suffering ignominy.
And growling at everyone, it fritters
And lose its sweet worth sourly.

As I draft the epitaph of its early dead,
For it was lifeless sans its loyalty, its blitheness
For I saw in its eyes, the image of insanity widespread,
I notice the true colour of the authority, their impunity
That they are more wretched than the animal.
Leastways the cockeyed creature knows not to kill,
Nor its disrepute helps it make more brutal
Nor it forced us to pay its bill.
Now Mr Jackson’s words need to be altered
The one-time love—it seems it is forever lost
For in the filthy dog’s image lies a picture
Telling us thousands of words about the thickos.


Postscript: I would interpret that this animal resembles the people of authority, rather than they do with the dog.

                                                                            
The one-time love—it seems it is forever lost
For in the filthy dog’s image lies a picture 
Telling us thousands of words about the thickos

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For your kind information, there are no stray dogs in my hometown. All of them are domesticated wherever they have been conceived and brought up. Yet they eat shit and the only breeding place they have is the street. But these words don't mean no hard feelings for those dog lovers, eh! The only thing I can make out from this doggie story is the images we have for a dog—stray or not, edible or not—and those of the authority, especially the dimwitted commando type.

You know these morons, who snoop around the town day and night, bark and would even bite if their masters incite them. Otherwise they are more lovable than the most lovely puppy, or if you don't love pets, like you love pissing after drinking. If these commandos are not dogs, I'm sorry but they are the shits, you know the kind of feces the dogs eat. Yes, if you don't believe, the dogs consume the dumps! Unholy shits! The commandos are just like them though. [With an insincere apology to one of my cousins who is a sub-inspector. I cannot help it. You know, I'm not sorry either, but I am for the lakhs of rupees you have fed the dog-leader to get there.]

It's not only about commandos, folks. Imagine the kind of face CM Ibobi would be making when he comes to New Delhi, when he meet his masters. It's ridiculous only supposing the kind of knavish expression he would be showing like what a dog do when it knows there is a big dung around. I'm sick of these dogs. Ughhh!

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