1
Beneath the weight of hallowed, hollow halls,
Where rigid forms and tired echoes call,
I stand apart—unshaped, unwilling clay,
Resisting molds that sought to fix my way.
2
At Dhuhi Novodaya Jatiya Vidyalaya, dawn’s first light,
The headmistress - Anupama Deka leaned, her voice soft, bright:
\"What will you be, child? What will you be?\"
I smiled, \"Life’s script is yet unseen by me.\"
3
Years bent to books, ink-stained and confined,
Till walls expelled me—cast me to the wind.
My father’s voice, a storm of grief and pride:
\"You chose the tongue the white man left behind,
Yet falter now at thresholds still too high.
What will you be, son? What will you be?\"
\"Poetry,\" I said, \"will be my only creed,
Though it won’t feed the mouth, it feeds the need.
If joy were all, no verse would ever rise,
But sorrow carves its truth in midnight skies.
No gilded title, no parrot’s learned speech,
Just words that pierce—and hearts they’ll someday reach.\"
4
Now, restless nights—my bones protest the air,
Two days unslept, two souls laid bare.
The window stays agape, the world flows in,
A balm, a hymn, against the ache within.
And there, the poinciana’s flame takes flight,
A scarlet hymn against the fading light.