(or Reviews, Bailiff, if you please for representing to Tax_)

A fool on your Home Planet
A journalist on the monied one
Don’t you know your next wielding verse
Is your unwritten son?
He hasn’t been so paid
To wander streets to evade
The decorative Devi with sincerity to get laid
While the monstrous beasts lay to your back what is now aid.

Convince your emotions
Complacency is strong
But where is the deviancy that once stood strong
To listen to others of their points of view
And dine with the extras of what was for you?
Have they stolen all they can –
The friends who could feed;
While teaching you tired manners
By the fountain of youth in your hour of need?

The literary Reed is not dining forever
There are other things to progress:
And if we say so dear Fellow,
Your English is leering to impress.
Just click right and turn left at the exit
You’ll find others’ with keyboards
Ready to entertain the Boards
With stories from their lives
And who was white when alive was a live wire.

It’s always the same : –
They came in with a board game
And left with Monopoly on fame.
So what – theirs are not The Vedas
And yours is not the shame,
Of needing to get laid on time
When the complacency tells enough rhyme.

13 o clock
What a cock!
Then it is Bucks Fizz
For watching him drink his son’s Jizz…
Round and round the story will make you proud
Of what he was watching while you were brown
And his father sold him the Church of England as a Pub
#AndIndiaasDharamsala while a Llama ate meat as his grub.

AI Summary

The poem stages a blistering critique of literary vanity, cultural theft, sexual hypocrisy, and the lingering hierarchies of class, race, and colonial memory. The speaker addresses a figure who postures as journalist, poet, critic, and moral authority, exposing how he feeds off others’ stories, bodies, and labour while pretending to be enlightened or progressive. The poem moves through scenes of artistic ambition, sexual frustration, spiritual pretence, and social decay, weaving in satire about Englishness, Indianness, academia, fame, and the absurdity of cultural gatekeeping. Beneath the biting humour and explicit provocation lies a deeper ache: the sense of being exploited, exoticised, or dismissed by people who claim sophistication but hide behind privilege, hypocrisy, and inherited power. The final lines collapse the whole spectacle into a dark, looping joke about identity, shame, and the strange afterlives of empire — leaving the speaker both disgusted and defiant, refusing to be reduced to anyone’s stereotype or story.