I’ll have none of it.

The glittering vulgarity on crude display,

puffed-up egos wrapped in vacuum-sealed packs,

adorning the sterile aisles of shining malls with their endless racks.

 

 

 

I’ll have none of it.

The broken & battered souls swept up in the tide,

of holidays by the sea and drinks on the ninth hole of the course,

deaf to all cries & whimpers but for the closing bell of the bourse.

 

I’ll have none of it.

The endless parades of ostentatious pomp and raucous laughter,

deadened spirits aspiring for nothing more than an unquenchable greed,

haughtily trampling the ‘other’ in the crass pursuit of what next desire to feed.

 

I’ll have none of it.

the wilful silence of the privileged few among the numberless many,

so eloquently articulate and quick-witted in hour upon hour of polite chatter,

yet mute and hushed by sips of Chivas when the raging war outside doesn’t matter.

 

I’ll have none of it.

None of this nauseating mockery and none of this reeking sham,

I’ll have none of it for I was there once and lapped up the vulgarity of it all,

I’ll have none of it now, though, so you may as well put me up against the wall.

I’ll have none of it now for I was there once and soaked in that intoxicating air,

I’ll have none of it now, though, so if tonight I sleep forever, I’ll be the last one to care.

 

(For Guru Dutt, 1925 – 1964)