To my favorite Dictator
Rafai Encampment,
East of the capital,
822101
To my favorite dictator
I write again this morning
waiting for a reply
from the post office I assume
where all the letters have been stalling
Good grief!
I read in the paper last night
with your sigil grander than the Nile
A failed uprising It was
led by Saharan traitors who bled
in battles with you before
running out of patience and lusting for greed
how can their blood be so thin,
a treacherous kin
who will eventually stab you behind
mustn’t be left freed
It’s your glory which put theirs to shame
plummeting helmets into pyramids
of tuberoses dyed red
a portrait of you standing
atop the sand hill, how blessed were those spectators
of being visitors to both
heaven and hell
It was a clear message in the paper I read,
leave no stone unturned
punish the deserters or traitors who fled
and if not them,
rubble through their homes and let the price be paid
by their families instead
Alas! I have to confess
A friend of mine
Abu
from the same kind
says he came from the north
where sun loves the night
but after what has happened
he is no more my paI
A heavy decision for me
I couldn’t let him free
To befriend the pedestal beside your company
Many ways to do the deed
but I chose the one
with most certainty of
gaining your praise
and glorifying your creed
Even Maa and Papa needed some counselling
but eventually they agreed
So I moved him in
into my home
from the land of kilns,
he does what he knows
bakes us a loaf
and muffins at will
that keeps him busy
playing ‘family’ with me
it’s all an act
I believe
he won’t conspire
or never be free
Dictator, you can always count on me!
It has
almost been
2 months now
I am sure the officers must have misunderstood your seal
for a fake one on the letterhead way to my camp
no surprise their eyelids are always a puzzle to the onlooker
more difficult to interpret than the morse code sent by enemy camp,
do you think can they be punished for their attempt to sabotage?
Or am I being too harsh?
perhaps it’s just me being impatient
for the letters
Gartha and Braddie are both stationed up
in the receiver’s office,
same year I turned 9 and was promoted,
they were listed out to administration on
not scoring up to their ranks
Running errands for the chief
bicycling their time
and challenging Atlas
with that sack of transcripts on their back,
they wail and bitter all day long
“reduce the labor”
but debt of incompetence is all they got
I can’t stand this under delivery of justice
their shoulders should droop lower in guilt and regret
for they must bear more weight
as failures of state
how easily they become
living laughing stock for our enemies,
I can’t stand this insult to you
Dear dictator
Unlike me
their posture is bony and fragile
with infant hands befitting their age
grown up’s work for them is futile
I propose
they be put in the library
of our learning center
Being made to crawl through pages
until their brains are fried
submerged in tests day and night
and when they think the torture is done
we will send them back to learn
so the day they come out
a perfect example we will have
to warn anyone
of betraying the fatherland
but some comrades never understand
the other day,
an army truck ran over our old man’s vegetable stall
crushing all his produce for the year
glowing in rage and distress
he demanded compensation for his loss
the drowsy driver replied,
“wasn’t there a lady on the front seat, no?
that’s why it crashed
when you find her lurking somewhere
do send her my regards
till then, I have a delivery to the railway stop
a tiny sacrifice for a grander cause”
next time he saw the driver
it was in front of a bearded tribunal
who stood like pillars of justice
keen on unearthing the truth for poor commoners
and passing them rightful judgements
which they did,
issue a warrant against the rowdy woman
who was at fault for the misdemeanor,
shutting the case forever
all sitting elders were satisfied –
with the delivery of fresh wine
requested inside their cozy quarters,
our old man though
sought to leave some remarks behind
“I am grateful to God
our country is run by a leader in blue,
if it were to be a lady at the top
you could have hard time
imagining a woman
who can crash her cart”
He caught the entire room in laughter
“Who says a man can’t drive in vain,
a breathing example I have
that I probably cannot explain”
– “what? Do elaborate”
Our old man wanted to leave unfazed,
he sewed his lips and promised himself
to say no more and depart in haste
Greetings
to the dictator
who doesn’t care
Eleven months on the calendar
no message again
I enquired at the post office
they knew no such affair
Oh! how my brain has given up,
heart has lost its beat
a throat that suffers drought
legs that can’t stand weight
and a belly scared of longing
I can’t call this betrayal,
treason at the very least
for which dear leader
we reserve the capital treat
My fury has its own head
One that’s filled with stale hope
trampled on and on
by your unfaithful promises
My brother of six
who admired you even more
waited outside in the merciless cold
for the convoy to pass and get your glimpse
but you never stopped
or waited for him
even when he called
he was left unanswered, appalled
I made an attempt
to meet you at the headquarters
only to be denounced, scoffed at
and humiliated by your subordinates
in front of the gated border
today we go to the station uphill
where boxes are kept
with names of aspirants
claiming to replace you
I don’t know how effective this is,
the system of ‘choosing’ representatives
but it’s our last hanging string
for survival within
this chamber you built
our camp is huge
with more people like me
I have less to worry
on the path of regeneration
No bird can always fly
no stone can stay put
blindness births from the unseen
that rulers draw power from
Power is people’s property
and people change
to rise and survive
in pursuit of tranquility
This is going to be the last letter
to my favorite dictator
I voted against
By: Adil Sayyad
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