After years of aimless wanderings
Leaving behind the cities of midnight revels
And the fevered journey in metro rails,
I am back at the land of my people.

Wherever I went,
Under which ever roof I slept,
I had carried my land,
As a jewel in a casket
And ensured it rested safe
Ever under my pillow

As I moved with aliens
Unable to merge with their cultural mores,
I saw my land glimmer in darkness
Like a dew drop on a moon blanched leaf

When I sweated in the blistering sands
A patch of green landscape, like an oasis
Wafted me in a cool embrace
Then dreams poured in like star light
And I wandered in the meadows of my youthful love
My heart struggling to forget old longings
And memories lashing upon me like tidal waves

Pursued by that inalienable shadow
Suddenly being born in flesh and blood
I hastened to the streets of my youth
With hopes galore and plans vivid

But alas! There is none to recognize me
Oh! I am a stranger here
An unwelcome stranger among total strangers
Now I wonder which is truly my land?
The one left behind or the one just landed in?

Oscillating between these two worlds,
My fractured identity looms large
With worms of memories wriggling in my flesh
And a myth suddenly dying in my brain

.
To whom it may concern.
To anyone who remembers me.
I bet you thought I was dead,
hidden in this house of lunacy.

You had me brought here,
so this letter to you I pen.
This place is cold and sterile,
I can't wait to be free again.

Was it for my own safety?
Or was it to safeguard yours?
I cannot recall the problem now,
my mind is stuck on pause.

They fill me up with pills,
keep my head in narcotic haze.
I have a soft and secure room
to smile away the days.

It will be good to see your faces
when they finally let me home.
I wish one of you would write,
or call me on the telephone.

Why do you never come and visit
The Moontouched man so mad?
I'm sorry you saw my melt-down,
sorry it made You feel that bad?

I hope you will read this letter,
the pen and paper I had to borrow.
But the drugs are starting to work,
I'm so drowsy now...
          ... I'll finish this tomorrow...


© Pagan Paul (2017/18)

Do not allow treason.
It is deceiving of faith
It is harm, inflicted.
It is jeering.
We know it might go on
For some more time
Despite our disapproval.
But do not ever forget
That you disapprove.
And make your voice heard.
Do not ever forget
That if you remain silent
The jeering increases in proportion...
And then come home and drink your wine!

Being white...is now a sin to society.







I was nothing but a plain canvass. Hanging in the wall, the consummate design of purity. One day, I threw a dot in the middle of my frame to see how life is like. Then all of the sudden, I became the attention of most paintings. I was art. I was meaningful. The thought of my imperfection is art. But not all commits to that sense of style, and they judged me. They smudged me with colors I'm unfamiliar with. Their hands changed me in terms of tragedy, just like themselves. My innocence became abstract with different intentions. The white no longer defined me, but the sins they made me do provide.