Oh My Hands Quiver as I type and Other Poems!
Photo credit: mvictor from morguefile.com
These are testing times indeed! We are vociferously fighting to protect Our Right to Speech! Here is my humble attempt in voicing this angst of the citizens of this country!
Oh My Hands Quiver as I type
Oh my hands quiver as I type,
Something quite polemical, am I about to write?
Uncertain, unsure, nervous and anxious,
Should I not stop before I commit this travesty, this horrendous crime?!
I tread cautiously over each noun I write,
And check my adjectives – are they not too derogatory, should I take out the bite?
I fumble over my verbs and settle for the most banal and trite,
Oh yes, my hands quiver as I type.
Is thee watching my each step,
With thy bloodshot eyes and accusatory fingers?
Would I be locked, burnt or just taunted with vicious jibes?
Oh this uncertainty, it makes my hands quiver as I type.
Can’t they not handle a frank bird’s twitter?
Or read a face that mirrors an honest book?
Is it really blasphemy, when all we do is to add 2 and 2 to get 4?
Yes, my hands do quiver as I type.
What is art if not free?
Would you shackle the painter and break his brush?
All I know is to play with words, should I give that up too?
As I commit this sordid crime, my hands quiver as I type.
Sixty-five cycles of winters ago,
A nation fought, it was a summer of discontent.
For this very freedom, in the monsoon’s thunderous might,
But still today, my hands quiver as I type.
But why live in fear, why just not shut the shop?
Why walk in the line of fire, when you can bundle yourself up in a cocoon?
Vismay, between a rock and a hard place you are stuck,
Give up, or for eternity your hands will quiver as you type…
**
Free but Fettered!
Fettered am I to this land,
Which lets me squat when I get tired of roaming its length.
Fettered am I to the Constitution,
Which at least lets me breath in between tightening the noose around my neck.
Fettered am I to my leaders (politicians),
Who let me curse them when I want to release my froth of pent-up anger.
Fettered am I to the roadside goon,
Who checks whether I speak and dress properly or not.
Fettered am I to the roadside vagrant,
Who brings me crashing back to Earth when I try to fly high.
Fettered am I to my country,
Which though free, tries to grasp me within its folds….
I am free though I am fettered…..
And that’s the Human Bondage!!!!!!!!!
****
