Own Poetry English

I, Misfit


In a big, grand, happy family,
With women cooking lovingly,
Children playing merrily,
Men coming back home after a hard day of work,
Being treated royally.

Fretting over the patriarchy,
The mundaneness of life,
And the narrowness of mind.


In the corridors of power,
With men trampling on whoever they can,
And women striving to catch up,
To make it in the world of men.

Fretting over the privilege
Taken for granted; and judgment
On the less endowed flying about.


On the roads, behind sloganeers,
Activists in black armbands, determined,
Convinced of their worldview,
Noble, but flawed and incomplete.

Fretting over the lack of nuance,
The disregard for the truth,
In search of revolution.


In the streets on the city fringes,
Smelling thick of sweat, alcohol, cynicism
Of drugs, of lives languishing,
Of hopelessness, dead rebellions against the system.

Fretting over the futility,
The pointlessness, the waste,
Misfit – even among the misfits.

Own Poetry English

Be Grateful

Be grateful

That it isn’t the emergency yet.

That the daughter is spared the rape
Even if the father is lynched.

That they still pretend that killing is bad
Only they are not responsible.
And don’t gloat over it openly.

That they only ask you to
Close your mind, you mouth.
And bow in blind obeisance.
They haven’t come for you yet.

Be grateful

While you live.
After that
It won’t matter.

Own Poetry English

Let there be a war

Let there be a war.
At least you know
Who the enemies are.

Else in peaceful times,
Compatriots commit
Worse than war crimes,

Not even batting an eye.
Whataboutery defending them
Against the shaming cry.

Who do you even fight,
When the angels of last evening
Blow out this morning’s light?

Own Poetry English

Speaking Up?


The problem is no longer
That we don’t speak up.

The problem is
That we speak too much
About everything.

And it’s difficult
To hear anything
Above that din.

When we can’t hear,
We assume
That nobody else cares.

And we speak louder.

Apparently some lethargic being
Living under the rocks
Must know
What needs doing.
But they have been
Shirking, postponing.

But with our incessant speaking
We feel content
That they must have been
Saved from inaction, because
They must have
Heard us by now!

Or will
If only we continue shouting.

Own Poetry English

Reassurances from a Grown Up

What were you thinking,
When they stormed in?
Did you have time to
Comprehend the killing?

Were you too stunned to
Even pray to be spared?
Or did you suddenly remember
A martyr’s story, who won’t be scared?

Did you think that if you were
Just allowed to live and grow up,
The world won’t remain like this
When it was in your adult hands once?

If that was the regret with which
My innocent sweetheart, you died
Let me assure you, there is nothing to regret
No matter how much this world now cried.

Because had you lived and grown up
Here is what you would have seen.
The oppressed turns into oppressor
Before history has even time to wean.

You would have struggled to separate
The wrong from the right.
Revenge, pettiness would have been thrust
Into your face with all their might.

You would have wondered
If the pain of those few moments
Wasn’t better than these long, slow
Soul-crushing torments?

Don’t believe? Then just look at me
I lived, grew up, but must be numbed in senses.
Instead of shedding human tears at your fate
I am offering these horrendous reassurances.

Own Poetry English · Thoughts

There is Always More to Life

If you are busy earning for that house and the second car, there is still that nice book to be read, curled up on the bed.

If you are busy pouring over book after book, there is still the need to learn the real world human emotions, motivations and greed.

If you are busy making your way up in the world of humans, there is still that wood to be strolled in.

If you are busy and lost in the isolated woods, there is still the problem of millions of children going hungry to be solved.

If you are busy solving the world hunger problem, there is still a way to enjoy the life despite all the misery.

There is always more to life.