ANATOMY OF AFFECTION

I know you don’t believe me
I know you think its wrong.

I wish you could be there
To watch with what precision
They rip me up in pieces
Flashing the long needles
Scissors, scalpels all,
To announce the grave verdict,
With prophetic poise and tone
On the strange case
Of one arrogant wretch.

At least give me praise
For bearing it all awake!

Morning evening afternoon…
You’ll find me all the time
Stretched out alive
Like a frog in the lab
Counting the span
Of each dissecting day.

The reports are all the same.
“He thinks he knows it all.”
“Behavioural problem, you see.”
“He needs counseling, I think.”
“There’s a limit to tolerance, you know.”

Babbling breed of painted beasts.
Sinners don’t stone others.
I am a man
More sinned against than sinning.

I am not showing off.
Comes naturally, you see.
Must cling to something-
Even if it’s a text.
At least I know old Will
Will not come and judge.
Perhaps he too will ask,
Biting at his quill
“Is there a cause in nature
that makes these hard hearts?”

I know it’s all futile,
Resenting all in vain.
Just twist and twirl
Like a broken can
Through the primrose cactus lane
To meet at length the twilight-time
When flocks of doves
Will fly way
Into the womb of sunlit clouds
Bearing dreams on purple wings.

Till then the wheel must turn,
Through all the potholed stretch of time,
Smeared in dirt and filth
To wrest at least at last
The freedom to be me.