Abhijit Naskar's Blog, page 6

Allergic to Opulence (Sonnet 2230) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

Do I have any right to happiness,
when millions go without food and shelter!
That’s why, there’s not a trace of luxury in my life,
I churn out humanitarian electricity all waking hours.

Most expensive clothes I own cost 20 dollars,
most expensive devices I own cost 200 dollars.
Born to a factory worker, I never knew luxury,
then I made me a name, but saw the world’s condition,
I grew an absolute repulsion to lifestyle luxurious.

The question is not, how much can I enjoy,
but how much can I endure to lift up the world!
Life’s meaning comes not from what we gain for
ourselves, but from what we give up for others.

I’m existentially allergic to opulence,
every soft bed feels like a betrayal –
expensive meals scream of starving children,
dollar spent on luxury is a dollar animal.

I Too Am A Racist (Sonnet) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

I too am a racist, except my racism
is rooted in evolution, not ignorance and fear –
to me, human race is the mightiest animal,
which is why, our responsibility is far greater.

I too am a bigot, but my bigotry is tolerance,
I don’t accept anyone as human who’s intolerant.
I too am a fundamentalist, but my faith is choice,
every human is free to choose what’s best for them.

I too am a traditionalist, except I walk the tradition
of acceptance, not a secondhand host to dividing lineage.
I too am an extremist, except my extreme is annihilation,
my culture don’t exist, nor religion, or native language.

I am native of the earth, yet I’m immigrant to humankind,
for I come from a valley, alien to the states of the world.
I am not interested in building bridges, I am the bulldozer,
out to demolish convention that makes divisions possible.

Time to Cancel 4th of July (Sonnet) – Abhijit Naskar, The First Supper

If it takes just one election to reverse
hundreds of years of social progress, then
that society never progressed in the first place.
There’s no point in celebrating 4th of July,
when we’re ever regressing to persecution days.

On the outside we’ve made tremendous strides,
we have been to the moon and back,
yet the glossiest of land reeks of lunacy,
when we nationalize prejudice as gallant.

America is abomination of everything free and brave,
where persecution is law, intolerance is religion.
To overcome hate some day, we gotta stand human today;
Dream of the King is the Dream of Civilization.

We have no cause for celebration, if anything,
we gotta re-examine the legitimacy of 4th of July.
When boneheaded egomaniacs make a joke of liberty,
revolution is our first amendment, mutiny our right.

Why did my publishing output skyrocket around 2019? – Abhijit Naskar, Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

Put your conspiracy theories aside, I’ll tell you why.

Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

When I started writing, I had a partner,
I had plans to settle in Sofia with her.
But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when
she grew weary and took the hand of another.

I couldn’t write a single word for days,
but then, I let the god complex unleashed.
That’s about when my writing skyrocketed,
as the heartbreak jolted my brain
into a hyper-publishing engine.

I had all the time in the world,
and enough pain to fuel my pen.
Every time I got my heart broken,
it benefitted my mission.

First time someone broke my heart,
I dropped out of engineering
and emerged as the Monk Scientist.
Second time when I lost my love,
Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.

Pilgrims and Nazis (Sonnet 2220) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

The terrorists you call pilgrims,
did not immigrate, they invaded,
pillaged and plundered a continent,
they even plagiarized its name into
a symbol of atrocity and violation,

just like the nazis heisted
a holy symbol from the east,
and turned the sacred Swastika
into the global icon of hate.

History books are all messed up,
none teaches the history of humans –
world history was written by animals,
to maintain their narrative unchallenged.

The West broke the world, now
the human race gotta resurrect the world,
offspring of the terrorists and terrorized alike –
but we can do nothing at all,
till we decolonize our mind.

Fugitive Peace (Sonnet 2219) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

In the opera of war, peace is fugitive –
thinking soldiers are no good to state,
either you kill without question, and grab
your medal, or get discharged dishonorably.

Thinking citizens are no good to democracy,
either you obey blind or be branded a terrorist.
Either you hold your mouth, mind and backbone,
or be jailed as an anarchist.

If you want to be an actor,
don’t go to film school,
become an intern to some politician.
Some say secularism is in their blood,
some say liberty, all the while being
the posterboys of persecution.

No politician will prioritize peace,
if they did, they would be out of business.
War is the currency of political power –
abandon fanaticism, and politicians go extinct.

Citizen is The Leader (Sonnet) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

I have made a few amendments in my own canon,
I don’t mean going back and removing passages,
as if they never existed, for that’s deception,
rather I point out my errors myself, so you know,
I ain’t infallible, on occasion I have been wrong.

My main two mistakes were with America ‘n soldiers,
I looked upon both with respect in my early years,
until it dawned on me, America is a terrorist state,
and all soldiers are mere puppets to warmongers.

All governments are a facade,
all politicians are merely actors.
In a civilized world citizen is the leader,
obsolete is the profession of world leaders.

In a civilized world I could spend my days writing
mushy poetry, sparing the headache of human rights.
But alas, that is not the case, hence, I’m restless,
sleepless, vacationless, in kindling the human light.

“No Literature is Infallible.” ― Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

No literature is infallible, but while errors in scientific literature are proudly mended by later scientists, errors in religious literature are rarely mended – they are interpreted, reinterpreted, and justified in a million ways, but never questioned, as very few persons of faith have got the brain and backbone to acknowledge errors, let alone correct them – this is not holiness, it’s blindness most primitive.

Reverence without revision isn’t sanctity, it’s stagnation – and stagnation might feel honorous, but it leads to devolution. Just because it’s habit doesn’t make it holy – admission of error is the beginning of enlightenment.

I don’t plea, I execute (Sonnet) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

I never play the victim card,
because to play the victim one would
have to feel inferior somehow – which I don’t –
I am not inferior to anyone, quite the contrary,

I am one of the most spectacular specimens
of whole human that ever walked the earth –
which is why, whenever I face derogatory remarks,
my immediate response is not that of an offended
minority, but that of a concerned parent
disappointed at their child’s misdemeanor.

I don’t beg for equality, I establish equality.
I don’t plea for mercy, I execute justice.
Millennia yet for courts to catch up to my truth;
I don’t outsource, I am the source of holiness.

When The Nation Regresses (Sonnet 2210) – Abhijit Naskar, Iftar-e Insaniyat: The First Supper

Letter to the rest of the world –
for the first time in over 200 years,
US is proudly regressing to its primitive origins,
now is the time to take stock of your strengths within –

your domestic brains, your domestic backbones,
and wield, empower and apply them most vehemently –
now is the time you fly higher than ever, without sam,
because big brother has turned into a drunken uncle.

And to those living within these shores of liberty,
who still have their senility intact, I say –
you might not have had the honor to fight nazis,
but now is the time you resist with your life.

It’s not a free country, it’s a free jungle,
where predators roam free abusing the marginalized.
If you don’t stand up now on the right side of life,
not human, not alive, you are undead – uncivilized.