Where life still, walks on stilettos
And Guevara, dares from graffiti
Folks laugh away, an age lost to, communist woes
O’er cigars’ haze, and broken, mended American treaty!
Still houses wear, the gaudiest coats
Like half penny lipsticks, on one dollar harlots
In the stupor, of new carnivals, a lost history discovers
The naked truths, of socialist furs!
At the centre-spread stands, Castro’s bust
Defying defeat, of a revolution
Communism rots, in trodden dust
Whilst a nation, heals from crucifixion!
I see an ethos, eternally lost, in socialist schizophrenia
A pimp, measuring his wife, with coffee spoon
A present, trapped in past, yearning for nirvana!
So many hues, of misery strewn…
On A Somber Cuban Afternoon…!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra