Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet


Who cares whether I slept on a furry quilt of satin or a blanket of acridly pointed thorns, 


 


Who cares whether I ate in plates coated with scintillating silver or didn't consume food at all, 


 


Who cares whether I used perfumed soap to scrub my persona or bathed in water leaking abundantly from the gutters, 


 


Who cares whether I wore linen suits blended with rich denim or was wandering in unscrupulous rags on the chilly streets, 


 


Who cares whether I studied diligently browsing trough complicated literature or gallivanted through the country farm, 


 


Who cares whether I took medicine in high fever or gulped sips of red wine to go off to sleep, 


 


Who cares whether I played with ornately embellished soft toys or contented myself molding incongruous shapes in disdainful clay, 


 


Who cares whether I traversed the streets in luxury sedans or spent marathon hours to reach my destination barefoot, 


 


Who cares whether I deciphered mind boggling puzzles or smoked cigarettes incessantly on the house terrace, 


 


Who cares whether I bought fresh fruits from the market or plucked them surreptitiously from the orchard tree, 


 


Who cares whether I flew in the grandiloquent aircraft or swam across choppy waves of the ocean to witness the world, 


 


Who cares whether I behaved somberly in front of my elders or barked a volley of abashing expletives at the same, 


 


Who cares whether I clambered up stairs leading to the sacrosanct church or whiled away the whole of the day gambling for money, 


 


Who cares whether I spent the afternoon relishing the cool air of the airconditioner or perspired like a bull under the sweltering sun, 


 


Who cares whether I celebrated several festivals or feasted on intoxicating beer every night, 


 


Who cares whether I trimmed my moustache scrupulously every day or let my beard grow the way it wanted; taking random roots, 


 


Who cares whether I lead my life doing benevolent deeds or spent the remaining part of it in despicable jail, 


 


Who cares whether I mixed in the high society or had a group of dreaded gangsters as my roommates and friends, 


 


Who cares whether I had blissful dreams in the night or woke up with petrified jerks every ten minutes, 


 


My parents had left when I was an innocuous kid; the treacherous tyranny of a car crash rendering them dead, 


 


And the adulterated society in which I existed today had unanimously christened me an orphan, 


 


Made me wholesomely numb to the spirit of love; made me forget the essence of the word care.



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