I was sitting there
in one corner of a literary gathering
corner
For I was worried
somebody would ask me what I did
somebody would ask me what my plan in life was
Literary
For I read sometimes
write sometimes
Sometime I don't do both
Gathering
it was
of people I didn't know
of people I could never know
of poets, writers, artists
talking about violence, poverty, nation and all those absurd things
Absurd they were
But for violence is an everyday thing
what is so absurd about it, one may ask
Every breath i take, every move i make, like someone else said...there is violence
my eyes scan from one corner to the other
searching from someone
familiar, but i knew nobody
and my thoughts went back and forth between my cracked mobile phone
and the words of the poet
The poet, who seemed to be caught in an awkward moment
who looked like a child who walked into a boardroom meeting
While he read out to the audience
I heard
his calls for a rescue appeal
probably it wasn't him
probably it was me
I checked my mobile again
hoping that someone would have called
hoping for a message from someone I loved
or from someone I was trying to love
for i didn't want to miss this train too
I remember what a friend said
It doesn't matter which train you take
there is no destination anyway
By now I could hear the words like detachment, form, content, investigation
let out loose dressed up like wild hounds
those poor little words, what could they do
they just had to play by their masters...poor slaves
my heart reached out to them, those teary eyed little ones
I got back to searching for that someone
in tattered clothes
may be lurking in some corner like me
behind the magnificent circus