The narrative of the revolution
Runs deep through the veins
The unshakeable self belief
In the ideology of change
Change for equality
Change for justice
Change to classlessness
Change for freedom
Scores of lives are sacrificed
Near, dear, not so near, unknown
Those who could mourn
And those not old enough to bemoan
And yet when change happens
The narrative begins to ferment
Over a period of time
Unnoticed, slowly, silently
The rot seeps in
Surreptitiously through the system
Initially in ones and twos
And then as an avalanche
Humans demonstrate once again
That ingenuity and creativity
Can always find ways and means
To subvert idealism, ideology
The detritus begins to stink as years pass by
Till there comes a time
To dream of another ideology
A new revolution
Subir Chakraborty / 4th March 2018

Are we becoming cynic in order to be honest? Or it is inevitable and that’s the only truth? The poem raises a serious question to me.
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