I am no foreigner to alienation: A poem 

I think of the streets of my hometown, 

Mumbai, cluttered, and choking in fumes. 

And everyone smudging each other for leg space 

I survived. Then, I unintentionally changed countries 

And the strange streets became corridors of newer instincts. 

But I didn’t follow the roadsigns made by any law. 

I gatecrash the subways, metaphorically. Everyone can imagine 

a God who is not egoistic but has all the rudiments of duty. 

He can’t be kind, even though he doesn’t like innuendo,  

But he doesn’t reserve his invectives. You can say,  

he hates repression, but configurates his own prison, 

by disabling the jail warden when need be. 

I feel the pain of being a bull in a China store 

But there are few options at my door. I know, 

those relentless options are like drug stores 

that provide free medication that is too expensive for the soul. 

Sometimes, I look at the stars. They have a history of watching. 

I look at the sun, and I know it fears its own eclipse. 

And the moon is not the only one to blame.  

Ask what the moon tugs and heaves? I am not much of a mariner anyway. 

I like terra firma. I don’t like to use one against the other. 

But it is necessitated due to the treachery against righteousness. 

I am seemingly equipoised, even though I can feel hate 

for some with a passion. I don’t restrain my missives 

even though they can be capitalised for sabotage against me. 

I don’t fear defeat. I often don’t respect the speed breakers. 

I don’t want your bridges to burying the hatchet. 

I can be reckless with rhyme in mind, if not for reason. 

If you take away all my streets from me, 

I’ll still find my rite of passage!