Scrap Poem by mohanan viswambharan Nair

Why are these people like this?
They don't change anymore, pliable.
They are, as they had been since an unknown time.
Don't change anymore, resilient?
They are, as they had been since time immemorial.
How powerful they are, an atom bomb!
They think they are palm crackers.
Capable of writing history, with the ink
on the tip of the finger, heroic warriors.
What for? Didn't waste everything?
No matter what I lay here crying about,
What about the dog in the store of cotton seeds?
At the top of this hill, in this desolate place
What a beauty just lying here to look at the sky
Who cares, lying flat and spit up, it may stink myself.
Though, out of time, a feeling in me, whether the tree,
stood apart and dried for months, has sprouted?
Not the mob, but I am a scrap.