Solitude is my lover &
Silence is my muse
However, though it’s a curse
When the choices I prefer are
Conversation and comradery.
I speak less these days
For fear of being misunderstood
Misinterpreted and boxed into a
Category of not my making.
One sentence that results from
Employment of commonsense and
Meat eaters call me a hypocrite
Hindus call me a Muslim lover
Vegetarians brand me cruel
Liberals declare me blinkered
Conservatives label me a radical
Dalits accuse me a privileged Brahmin
Old announce I am an iconoclast
Christians slot me a heretic
Young stamp me orthodox
Muslims assail me a closet Sanghi
Women call me a misogynist
Brahmins name me a populist
Men ridicule me as a feminist
Educated say that I am that rare specimen
That can exist without a brain
The idiots call me names
And the educated idiots, resort to troll
Clueless and clobbered
I resolve never to utter another word
Retreat into my shell
And nurse my wounds!
Bob Dylan sang
How many times can a man turn his head?
Provoked and concerned
Or probably
Provoked because I am concerned
I utter my next statement and am
Drawn into the same whirlpool again.
Give up this torture
Advise me, my well-wishers.
You can’t change the world
Discourage the pessimists.
Can’t ignore the power of one
Goad me the eternal optimists.
Torn between hope and despair
Tormented as my default state
Vacillating between the
Desire to effect a change
And the inability to endure the pain
I immerse myself in
Challenging tasks and imposing tomes
Candid conversations and constructive thoughts
New hobbies and enervating workouts
I stay away and lie low
But beneath the ash
The embers continue to glow
And sooner than I know
Am drawn to shoot the next arrow.
I have been fighting for long
Trying too strong
The older I get
The more tiring it gets.
Even though I love the company
I am now forced to confess
Solitude is my lover &
Silence is my muse.
