The Language in Which I was Trained

What am I doing here, I mean here
I do not know if it’s true what I’ve become
I do not know if the world has lied
Or have I lied, to myself, on repeated occasions
Until, I became something, someone –

I did not intend to be, I would have hated
Once, to turn out as this
I have conspired into a strange brotherhood
Of anonymity, lost contact
With my true self, felt tortured by life

The life I did choose, so why!
What am I doing here, like this –
I do not know if lies or justice prevail
Under the cold tap of facts, I am what I am
But at this point I have my full share of confessions

To find out my poems and dictions meant nothing
In the grand scheme of my fate
The women I adored the most, meant nothing too
Each decade, it’s as if the world speaks another language
To my heart, that hoped creation had one root.

6 thoughts on “The Language in Which I was Trained

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