On Shutki Showcialism

A common political hue
In the boastees of Bangladeshi developmentia.
The smell,
I am told
Is an acquired taste.

It stinks,
And, who knows, perhaps literally
To Hell
And back.

It is worn for show,
A transnational con-trick
From the diasporas of dinia
And the djuice degeneration.

Its a Subaltern benefit cheat sheet of power.

So wave your kites you scoundrels
To catch wind
With disconcerting facility.
Feign feminine fragility.
Feed that nonsense engine

Know that you have become like Yahya's regime,
The one you flagellate about,
But just with better art,
Sorry, I meant PR.
And an epic bindi.

With a magnitude proportional
To inverted radicalism
On the Shapla Squared.