Hakimuddin Radhanpurwala Week 12- Toy Soldiers

The following piece explores the overlooked dimensions of power in America. As the seamless notion of power in society plays the perpetrator of all wrongdoings, it also encapsulates the potential to uplift marginalized voices and spread the notion of hope around the world. Power is what we make of it—its sole purpose is not to define greatness in itself, but rather the perseverance observed despite each of our fallibilities. Inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "America," the piece itself is a stark portrayal of protest poetry and power found through advocacy, while the content portrayed criticizes the corrupt misuse of power in a political context. 

Like Toy Soldiers

“America HAHAHA—is what the fat-green chicks dressed in suits laugh when

they push the red button.

America BOOM—is what the Nobody's hear on daily news-papers pressed to their ears.

America F*CK YOU—is what every other country cries when we shuttle a bloody strike

because we love to hiroshima every other sunday and alternate with nagasaki for leisure.

America YOUR WIGS ON FIRE—is what we recite because we’re genuinely scared that

the orange fungus growing on your thick skull might be the inevitable doom in place

for us all.

America GOOD KITTEN—is what the soviets chant when Putin pets our fur and sends

his fleas to get in bed with a 31 year-old Nato-baby; why don’t we steer clear of Vladimir?

I thought our premise was to set a masculine precedent and yet we let a cold-war waging

white man jerk our whiskers? Gosh, I didn’t reckon the taste of our country to 

be governed by a band of candy-striped rookies.

America I’LL BE YOUR MASCOT—is what I’d never say, because who am I kidding,

once my white face-paint melts, I’ll feel my brown skin burn; my naked flesh dissolving 

in a stampede of suited white whippersnappers, while the fluorescence of my skin will

camouflage with the dirt they walk upon. 

American YOU WH*RE—is what your wife tells me every now and then in bed, 

you swapped condoms for qualms with Iraq’s husband—Saddam—and unprotected

sex gave birth to that brutal b*tch ISIS, you mingled civilly with Syria, you went down on

Yemen and forgot to feed the poor girl a breakfast, I didn’t think you fancied Latinas but

when I heard you cockblocked Venezuela from her suitors I sent my condolences, and

then the only thing I learned is-real to you is your wife; don’t worry I didn’t do bad with

mom—she was just telling hoary bedtime stories of a man breathing liberty whom she met

on a metro running six-days in 1967; she said you were a kind and courageous man,

ambitious to the bone, but when I called your name I heard: Daddy’s never coming home

America TRUFFULA TREES—is what we lack (and what the dead once had); maybe 

when you find the Lorax we can all come back.

America [ ]—is nothing; we don’t speak about it anymore; it’s a thing of past; look 

around, there’s not much word we have left; after my shift clocks out, I’ll catch Uncle Sam by

the dirt and we’ll both dig ditches a million feet deep, and the last word they’ll hear

of you and me is: 

Rest in Peace”