Poet : Priyanjana Das
There are people ogling at me
Queer at first, then a slow smile
A sympathetic one.
The one that lingers only at the corners of their lip and never reaches the eyes.
And then there is me, distorted, if i may use the word.
A twisted arm, a fractured leg, an eye completely off the colours of the world.
There is me waking up every morning, trying to adjust my gaze at the Indian flag.
No, not the one near India Gate,
The one right on my table.
Then there is me standing in front of the mirror. Enclosed. Protected from leery eyes. Protected by self assurance?
Only the kind of assurance that stems from the Khakhi shirt of the Indian army.
It is those that reflect back MAJOR AVINASH SINGH.
Then there are people with sympathetic smiles,
The ones which could not have one glories at the border.
I am just an old man
With one eye looking back at the dark war times..