I Am Not Disciplined

I do not know the road I am not a disciplined traveller I meander along small paths They lead me to small huts... And of course, to small villages; I am not a disciplined sage Like one who gets up early To finish ablution and pray; I wait for the sun to wake me up With its slant rays beating my eyes; As a silent protester in street corner Upon feet of pedestrian hurrying Away talking loads of woes and worries; I am not a disciplined walker Who like to burn the soles; Treading upon corpses of children When their disgusting lust finds A corner inside neglected dustbins; I am not a disciplined anarchist; Sitting by the pyre of lost hopes I do not make my head straight And pound the soul for its unworthiness; I do not have disciplined thoughts.