Why should you come knocking at my door? - A poem - Day #15 (8 April 2020) 21 day #Covid19 Lock down

Day #15 (8 April 2020)

Why should you come knocking at my door? - A poem

I am a good man, lived my life in full,

played cricket, went to college, smoked,

abused my mentors,

burnt flags, buried my past,

ate meat in different lands,

animals, dead and alive,

spent on the gods,

drank the cheap wine,

kneaded legs, lived on the bones,

savoured the curves,

whoever, wherever,

the normal way,

till i tripped on one,

and created another...

future curve.

Am I not a good man, a normal man?

Why should you come knocking at my door?

I am a good man, led by the cuffs,

that tell nothing, but lies!

I did not kill them, I did not need them, at all.

The dark smoke did the job.

I was also engulfed, inside, outside,

they all died, I only smoked, the dark.

I refuse to die, I did not even deny. I am too minted.

The four walls, no...,

the three walls, and the iron rod window,

the smell of my own waste,

Minted, I don’t belong there.

The cuffs are lies, I only smoked, the dark.

I did not kill them, they died!

The cuffs, they are lies; I am telling you.

Am I am not a good man? the cuffs, they are lies!

Why should you come knocking at my door?

I am a good man, I stand before the world,

I look great, I am great.

They all know me, watch me,

love me, hate me, fear me, the great,

and yet, nobody, dare me.

I stand up against the mike, tells me,

speak, and I speak,

the words. I don’t have words,

I spit, and the world

reads them.

Nobody dare me, NO, I have

guns, bombs, missiles, warplanes, I

never use, the nuclear drop, never.

I stand against a mike, I spit.

Nobody dares me.

Am I not a good man? the spit is on the other.

Why should you come knocking at my door?

I am a good man, I don’t live.

The squalor, there is my walls, far away somewhere,

I work, I sweat, I beg, I thole, I endure

humiliation, my bread.

The worse, the better I bring home, bread.

I am alone, the little screen is my window,

reminds me of my woman,

any woman, if not.

The dented plate, is food,

any food.

Then, all of a sudden,

this night, I see him spit.

I rush to the streets, then the roads, the highways,

a million souls on cracked legs, hundred kilometers, three days...

Atlast, home in the dust,

she rushes to me, bare, worn look,

no smiles, no love, I come empty,

she is full. Her wait is done.

Two monkeys on her shoulders, scream out,

“Father!”, I step aside, the Virus!

The door is open, it was never there,

Am I not a good man? without even a door!

Why should you come knocking at my hole?

The curtain falls.

Silence, waiting for the crackle of the mike.

It’s a heavy voice, coughing, feverish

but pure voice, a million years old.

“I have come”, a moment goes,

“The normal does not matter, I have come.

The cuffs do not matter, neither lie not truth, I have come.

The spit does not matter, neither on you or the other, I have come.

The door does not matter, I don’t come knocking. I just come.”

And turning to the wise, “Were you not warned? Did you not hear me before?”

“In the Synagogue in Nazareth?

In the Mount as-Safa?

In Sarnath?

In the Tolstoy Farm, in Sabarmathi Ashram?”

“Did you not hear me through the Dervish, the deep trance of the Baul?

Did you not hear me through the Jinn’s and the Avadooths, ah! You thought they were all mad!”

“And that profound letter of the Si’ahl Chief, you have never heeded.”

“I didn’t come knocking at your door. You wished it.”

The End.