the great revolutionary poet stands
before us, armored in sheets of paper
yellowed pages ripped from Webster’s, Brittanica,
lists of long words with large meanings.
hey, boy.
you know something?
you wouldn’t know revolution if it bit you on the ass.
tear off that paper armor.
stand naked before us, balls retracted in fear.
stand naked and shivering and desperate
and speak of revolution.
I’ll stand naked with you —
stretch marks, bruises and all.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
March 19, 1997