A country of oxymorons

a poem by Mukeshkumar Mafatlal Raval, India

I live in a country of oxymorons. These pretty uglies love to hate. They feel sorry but not regret. In a country they have their nations. These big littles praise Ravan for giving safe passage to Sita. These round squares worship Radha Krishna but would lift Govardhana if their daughter chooses her own Krishna. These tragic comedies are Hindus and Muslims first and Indians later. They are real oxymorons. They love their mothers but hate daughters. They wish their daughter to rule at her in-laws 'but want a daughter in law like a servant. These liquid gases are infectious, they lovingly spread hatred, they turn a great country into a country of ladiesfingers of late monsoon.

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