Life’s Little Ironies

A year is supposed to be four unequal parts
The leaves and flowers know it well
And yet, in one long year of whiteness & iciness
The prison guard in one corner of Siberia waits
The unlikely sunshine of the next day in mid winter
He is less freer than the inmate, Dostoyevsky
The only difference is hard labour Dostoyevsky cannot ignore
But he can somehow — what a relief for the man with a gun!
But life has its own acidulent temper
Freedom can be so sarcastic about us.

Beyond the Hindu Kush
In one of the metropolises
A construction worker has the specialty
In many an impressive building — building, finishing
Architects’ masterpieces. Engineers’ pride.
But when the sun sets there is only one way back home
His sole achievement might include his being on the literal top
He has been on the top of the world at the 100th floor
When he is giving a finishing touch to the facade
He looks down, with ease, upon the bloody humanity.

Further east amongst the forbidden land along the Himalayas
What a man would do is the most forbidden damnation, like killing
And the man was born of parents unknown
With destiny written in blood and life in sweat
The future was doomed to underground the most worthless
But like a leader most fortunate: at the right place, right time
All it take was to kiss everybody’s arses
And thus the people are orgasmically happy, so is he
He is now the father of the government
While life flows unconsciously with insults and stupidities.

Claim: A Hardy-inspired title. Any resemblance to a living person or a character might be intentional. But nothing is related to Wessex or elsewhere (except where it is mentioned).



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