I wrote the following piece as a teenager, three years ago. It was then I had started taking interest in people and their varied traits and constitutional attributes. I am sharing a product of one such study on a real subject who believed and acted in the most peculiar ways. Another aspect of this poem includes a journey through the picturesque alleys of human thought, perception and behaviour.
However, I contemplate how it shall be
If I accumulate them, you see!
I am a man frequently laughed at
It’s not upon my pragmatism, now that’s odd!
If it’s my poverty that they find funny,
That is because the world is governed by money!
It is also my reserve they mock and leer
As if it were a communicable gene, they fear.
What I find demeaning I find them cheer.
What I find rude they find it fair.
Thus, my singular problems seem never to disappear!
They are a complacent lot, so pleased with themselves.
Say a word against them if you have lost your senses!
They speak and do whatever they please,
But I am slow to forget my injuries.
Now, I am a man of sense and honor,
Impecunious perhaps, but sincere
But my teapot, I must tell thee
That I must give them as much trouble as they’ve given me,
For I am sane and sensible, you see!
For my part, I can come out clean
As I have every reason for not having a bean.
I have a good reason for my poverty.
I have one for my alacrity.
One for my misfortune is preserved,
I now have an occasion for it to be served!
Long ago, I took upon myself a lot of chunk.
As I was young, I did not give hard work a bunk!
My father’s friends were influential people
They could make anyone cripple!
But they found my ideas jolting
And I found them most revolting!
They offered me a job tenaciously,
But I declared against it assertively.
I have not been wandering aimless,
Then there’s always the fame, no less.
And when I was hard on pennies,
I rent my father’s house to a man who sold chimneys.
I moved myself into a small cave,
Without a word or a wave.
People ran to me in my better days.
Now, they hide themselves at the sight of my face!
For a few, whom the honor befalls,
Seem to scatter, stumble, and have their falls!
They always seem ready with some sad news or excuse.
I feel sorry, as their troubles seem never to diffuse.
However, I sit with a renewed hope
Of repairing a chair I once broke,
When my tenant sends most generously,
A quarter of the rent, bimonthly!
Beneath a façade of sweet-scented jujube,
Oh, how full of problems their lives must be!
But I shall not make them flee,
For I am a gentleman, you see!
However, I shall give them a greater trouble;
Bigger than any, they have seen bubble!
I shall force a problem so crude
That they shall not have time to intrude
Upon matters which are not their own
And others, which they willfully condone!
I must start small, not act too clever,
I must give them a chance so they don’t waver.
My plans now remained only to be implemented
And I awaited a chance to be complemented.
When there was a household murder,
It did not give me the familiar shudder!
Instead, it evoked in me
All the desire to write my eulogy.
I saw my chance thus come by!
I rubbed my hands gleefully
For they shall be misled willfully!
I sat with the police and amused them well,
Ha! I was clever I made them swell.
Confounded, confused and utterly clueless
They came back twenty times, no less!
I saw no point in troubling them further
That I shall help them, they did gather.
They begged me for help which made me complete.
How foolish had I been in retreat!
Poor wretches, how I knew them inside-out!
However, there was more trouble without
My placing a helping hand;
My creating some of a new brand.
But in the end, it stirred their belief
that I was the murderer and a thief.
Ah! It certainly was a sigh of relief!
So after my grand revelation
I am retiring from my mission.
I choose my remaining words with caution
For I have taken all the precaution.
I searched around me it was you
Perhaps you will too say gladly adieu.
The sooner I shall be gone the better
As I am leaving them a gift for later.
The world seemed to be insanely unreal
For I was the sanest and not surreal.
(c) 2009, Ananya Mukherjee. Do not copy.