Karl Marx in Bangladesh
Would he rage at our libraries
at tilted shelves and fallen theories
text his travel agent
fly to London in a rage
his brooding beard a-twitch
to type theses on dhakabach? Would he stalk our streets
vanish among the pavement
poor to ponder their
nightly nets of green
'workers of the world unite'
re-appear to scream and cry? Would he gaze at our peasants
doubt the moon's ancient question
re-plow old equations
say young hegel's a ditch
that drowns and betrays,
doze on a reed mat
wake up in a dream
to torch this opiate world?
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