Modi and the Nationalists

do not go gentle

but go

kneeling if necessary

standing tall 

walking curiously into the hall

where chocolate pie with whipped cream

was the dessert of a three-course dream

and of course the hotel was filled with light

defying 

the dying 

although the tea was several hours old

and served cold

by Rushdie and the staff

who brought ice water in a tall carafe

while wearing masks

near the fountains of the Taj Mahal.

the conversation was about the human race and ruin

not what simpletons were or were not doing

and two bottles of red wine loosened the tongue

of the old and the young

seated at a busy table counting spoons

between birthday balloons

fleeing the scene

before any desperate group became obscene

or too much whisky was poured

and some martyr brandished a sword

bashing Modi and the Nationalists

charting the rise of crushing Covid deaths

between sips of hospital oxygen and gasping breaths:

the question of the hour balanced on every lip, 

but no one let it slip.