Ode to Dead Money

Friends, Indians, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to support demontisation, not to dissent
The evil that cash does lives on;
The good is oft interred with shredded paper;

So let it be with Cash. The noble Modi
Hath told you Cash was mostly black:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cash answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Modi and the RBI–
For Modi is an honourable man;

So are they all, all honourable men–
Come I to speak in Cash’s funeral.
He was what fed me, faithful and just to me:
But Modi says he was black;
And Modi is an honourable man.

He hath given many people a will to live
Whose jobs created this wonderful economy:
Did this in Cash seem black?
When that the poor have cried, for they couldn’t find Cash:
Black money should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Modi says he was black;
And Modi is an honourable man.

You all did see that after Demonetisation
The rich was indifferent, while the poor suffered
Why did only the poor stand in queue: was this black money?
Yet Modi says the rich will cry;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Modi spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for Cash?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cash,
And I must pause till it come back to me.