“Beastly Indians and so their faith, I fondly decry, why they breed like rabbits, let them die “
Churchill! The savior from Führer, or Führer yourself, with, no love lost for a wretched colony
With hunger borne by an unborn child, on scorched Bengal’s soul, your words worse than felony
As bodies pile high, to grab your eye, to your least concern, you discern, “let sleeping dogs lie”

1943-Sixth famine & deceit too, albeit this one, last fest of yearn, a regime’s reward in lieu of due tolls
Alas, Rain Gods failed, the peasants’ plight, life meanly caricatured by eternal cries of hunger’s blight
This ain’t any more that old reign benign, where clemency would determine, griefs and tolls to overwrite
Unwary souls, their fates changed hands, bonded British belongings now, sentenced to doom, with no paroles

“Rice ain’t nice for our coffers to fly; p for poppy, i for indigo, sow you must, for our pie in the sky”
Their profits, poison for forsaken souls, how callous greed can feed dying hopes, of two humble meals
Weighed dead assets, against shortfall of hefty toll, for living ones to now, balance with their ordeals
Their bounty smelled of rotting flesh. “So be it! Our British glory on the high, for we ain’t blood shy”

Tens of millions succumbed, staggering deaths summed, more than Jews in World War Two
And Black Plague preys, as Churchill says” Food? They don’t deserve, more than our Greek comrades”
The Butcher of Bengal, a racist on the prowl, gorged down so many dead, on cannibalistic escapades
Your sun never sets, you know why, we do? You eclipsed our sun, eons ago afore your empire grew

Hitler, Churchill two faces of the same coin, one monster, another butcher of the same kind
Both disgraced life in dreadful ways, one perished, demonized, another lived, deified
When asked for respite, Churchill callously replied, “If so horrible this famine, why hasn’t Gandhi died?”
History though, would undyingly remind, a gifted butcher like Churchill, would be hard to find

© 2015 Vikas Chandra