Lenin in the Presence of God
A trans creation after Iqbal, by Rafiq Kathwari
Aha! Comrade Ulyanov—
Welcome! Or I should say,
You’re alive? But “God is dead,” they said.
I inhabit men’s heart: passion’s home,
and for a moment
my angels swayed to your tune.
So, this is the source of the babble in churches.
Command and Control.
Shock and Awe.
I need a drink…
Heaven is not your local pub,
but we’ve a house white on tap:
Water of Life. Glass or Goblet?
Shot glass. Neat.
Think of it as Korsvodka.
Red blush on your cheeks—
it’s not rouge. Is it?
‘Tis, but O All Knowing, when will the boat of capitalism sink?
When church spires soar above skyscrapers,
when those who influence the influencers
blast hell to heaven.
When? O Architect of Destiny. When?
Too early to tell,
a hundred years from now perhaps
when Deceit is the New Enlightenment.
They drink your blood and preach equality.
When pompous patronizing puffed-up
pitiful venomous vicious presstitutes
“…all go in the dustbin of history…”
When Beijing becomes the Brussels of the East
and ships hoist a gold star on red
as they float above a plastic sea.
Bless the bitter proletariat.
When the godforsaken oligarchs sell rope
to the owners of capital
with which they hang themselves.
Don’t mock me, Tovarish Ulyanov,
You’re merely a speck of dust.
May Иисус, my son, watch over you. Poca!
Dobro Pozhalovat — Welcome!
Boja Moi— Oh my God!
Tovarish — Comrade
Иисус — Jesus
Poka — Bye