>≫≫My Pleasure

I am a Bengali, an Indian A Muslim and an Asian Friend, I am truly broken In keeping and fighting out Those identities and aspirations It looks like, I am a bird trapped in ideologies And my roots have gone deep in the ground Static and motionless I stand like a tree A statue made up of dry wood Engaged in arguing pretty politics In selfish and little gains Down play others in tea stalls In essays and in poems day in and in day out Spread bias against others Friend, I am really tuckered out In churning venom And become a psychiatric salesman Promoting the unworthy And feel the pressure of the burden Of defending the misdeeds of those unholy In the name of caste, creed Sex and color Come, cut my roots With the swords of dispassion And put up those to the sky Let it float and grow in the cosmos Up side down, My pleasure is not in false pride In fake notions In infatuations of divisiveness Or in dishonest honor of being loyal But in the truth In the real creation for mankind.