An Enigma, You Are!

Day in and day out insults I hurled at you - killer, ill-bred murderer, half-nut, Tughlaq exterminator of races, fascist, the worst tormentor of humanity the world has ever seen, eliminator of minorities beastly, big danger to secular democracy. Yet, at last, winning a popular mandate, you ascended the throne in my Delhi to lead my great country. Yet, I didn't spare any opportunities to malign you and criticize, prove and conclude all your actions wrong. And, today, when I was hoping against hope You would bite the dust against our united alliance of opportunistic convenience, ill-bred foe! you stand victorious, a mammoth Goliath riding the crest of a tsunami of popular vote. Having eaten the opium grown by the famous dead and bygone bearded ones of Russia and Europe, I complained my ancient heritage was opiate, drew deep, long sighs looking longingly at China, ridiculed native scriptures, sages and their saga, day-dreamt the triumph of class struggle, wedlocked with communalists if it snuggled, infiltrated well-known university campuses, poisoned the youth with the intoxicant potion of false revolution that promised freedom from the freedom they possessed. I am taken aback, dumbfounded by your victory. My fall sure is disgraceful; yet, your win is unacceptable, grossly ridiculous; by habit I say so; to change I am totally unable. Am still trying to figure out the reason for my rout. Will suffering masses help their tormentor? Will victims love their killer? Will the downtrodden forsake teachers of revolution? You disrobed me, made me stand naked on this desolate highway of democracy. Waving your lotus flag of victorious valor as you move away to take the reins of power, Oh, who is there to look for my red flag, my bloody red flag of revolution, which was blown away in the tempest you unleashed? Please let me wrap it around my waist, let me shield my shame. I heard someone say you talked to the masses in the language of the heart. I can't quite figure that out, an enigma thou art! May I scratch my brains that incessantly breed class struggles with the spade of dialectical materialism; let me make it look like you lost after all and seek comfort in that lie.