The desire to show myself
Could get me killed
With the malicious intentions of the world that I inhabit.
The name on my forehead
Is that of a caste
I am what they say I am born with
Then I must tell you that I am born with a gift to create
Would you then call me the creator’s own reflection?
Leave the question unanswered.
I desire to show myself still.
I want to tell the world about the art
That I had created
The covers of the books I designed
The books I am about to write.
Then I contemplate what I want to share
Through this feeling to bare myself naked.
I realize that I want to experience
The dazzling beauty of the smile
Radient on the reader’s lips
On the art connoisseur's face
The artist that I am
And not the illiterate brute that they call me to be.
The truth is in my nakedness
And I desire to unveil it in front of you
It, the cloak of my pen-name,
The mask of my unrealized self,
The naked body of my noetic being.

I haven’t read the Koran
So I can’t say if Islam is violent
I’ve read the history
I’ve come to know the crusades
And the passion of Christ
So I feel guilty
When I am asked
To respond to terror
And stay quiet
At the bearded bombers.
My wife is Hindu
She is offended
At the mention of religions
So I choose to be a secularist.
I do to church and pray
For my beloved ones and myself
I don’t say I’m going to church
I try to be as vague as I can
I say I have to commune
With an old friend
Or that I have some bread and wine to purchase
Then everyone is happy.
I envy the bomber his blindness.