“This place we live in…” – Mohit Vamsi
No place for young men this,
No place for truth and love.
No place for free men this,
No place for freedom.
I ponder, I wonder,
Ruminate and deliberate.
I still have no answers;
What do I make of this place?
There are masks everywhere,
Actors and disguises,
And curtains and stages.
Brimming with spies and eavesdroppers,
and hate spreaders and rumor mills,
Social shackles, religious roadblocks,
cultural carnage, societal stupidity.
Objectifying, judgmental, hypocritic puppets all,
An elite class of educated illiterates.
Attention seekers, fashion followers,
and hordes of opinionated ignorants.
Criteria conformers, money minters,
successful discontented ideal people.
Dream massacrers, wish wreckers,hope hunters,
Stereotyping, differentiating, biasing, depriving.
Blind observers, mute protesters, deaf protectors.
White lies, illusions; contradictions.
Learn to lead, but follow the crowd.
Be unique, do what the others do.
Do what you love, but fulfill their dreams.
I find myself in a quandary,
All this is such a mystery.
Is there an Omni competent instruction book?
Or is it all just chaos and randomness?
Call me naïve or say I’m foolish,
I’m young here and I’m confused;
I try real hard, in vain.
I do not understand the workings of this world.
Maybe I’m lost,
Or am living in a weird dream that makes no sense.
Either way, this is the only place I can call home,
And I’m scared of its residents and rules.
The worst part,
It feels like I’m becoming one of them.
Featured image: © Auguste Rodin’s sculpture, The Thinker. satima.org