RedPaper.in – Poetry
By: Preeti Vyas | RedPaper.in
I am a white collar man, but I am not one of them.
I travel each day with my ironed shirt, creased pants, and striped tie.
My shoes are clean from the dust of the surroundings,
But not from the dust of the hierarchical whimsical whines.
Daily, I walk to the office where I think I work,
Do I? I don’t know, but I try each day,
To stop the transactions knowingly unknown.
To prevent those cases when gets submerged beneath the mystic foam.
I try to be myself,
I try to keep my beliefs alive,
But every day I get bruises
Which are too dark to hide.
They try to tame me, get onto my nerves,
Each day when I try to arrange my desk,
Start my work, with the rules I was taught,
They tell those were nothing but underlid tarts.
But did I ever succumb,
No, why would I?
I am an unaware warrior,
Yes, I am, till I die.
You cannot see me as I have no fancy name,
No fancy gears, no familiar fame,
But I fight every day, to keep myself alive,
As they are not trying to kill my body but my soul in its shrine.
And saving your soul takes a lot, my friend.
It’s not a battle with one fight, it continues until you end.
This war is not threatening me or my position but my integrity,
Which I won’t give it to them but will fight till infinity