Witch Hunt Poem by Sankhajit Bhattacharjee

Humanity is like a cigarette-
it is prepared to be turned into gray ashes;
superstition is like an ashtray-
it only harbors the remains of humanity.

The villagers burnt alive an old widow.
Her daughter was forced to leave the village.
She now begs on a railway platform.
Their small property faced utter destruction too.
On the day when her daughter was forced to leave,
she was forbidden to take drinking water from their common tube well!
Her clothes were torn. Her head was shaved.
Everybody spitted on her. She was burnt with 'bidis'.
Few educated people were present among the illiterate villagers.
They encouraged this act.

Who will clean the ashtray?
If smoking can be stopped somehow,
the ashtray will remain clean naturally!
How can I put a ban on cigarettes!