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The Revolution That Will Never Come to Us

A poem about the limits of our intellectual pontification.
A.G. Krishna Menon
Sep 16 2018
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A poem about the limits of our intellectual pontification.
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These four walls are exhausted

with listening to our over-intellectualisation

of every problem.

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These four walls

want more than our feeble words

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that never slip through the cracks,

but are instead safely held together by its arms.

No, these walls want to be broken down

brick by brick;

they want to weep all the cement out of them.

They want to be demolished

with our anger,

with songs of protest,

and our poetry.

These walls want to be reshaped,

hung outside down,

moulded with new ideology —

ideology that forces change

within its very foundation.

But how do you change the foundation

when the foundation protects you from change?

Saranya Subramanian is a 22-year-old literature aficionado based in Bombay. She spends her time singing to herself and watching Madhubala videos (sigh). And she writes because, well, it's all that she can really do.

Featured image credit: Paweł Czerwiński/Unsplash

This article went live on September seventeenth, two thousand eighteen, at zero minutes past twelve at night.

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