I am born on the street,
amidst communal riots-
I have nothing to vibe for,
my upbringing, my education, or anything-
neither the chasing by the decoys,
nor when I was exhibited or proudly conquered,
by my sole owner.
Even that day I was not born,
when I stopped my breath for few seconds,
saved from being destroyed beneath the stampede-
my fate continued me ticking,
and I was frisked for at the airport,
by the authorities seeking.
I was a dormant bomb that continued its journey,
from one street to the other,
I wish I could have stopped someday,
in my owner’s hands-
and he stopped wearing me,
so that he could not have been killed,
in the hands of my previous owner.
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