Confessions Of An Amateur Detective Poem by Ayan Roy

Wherever he goes, I follow.
Need to understand his psyche,
But I can't walk a foot in his shoes,
He wears floaters in the rains, after all!
Truth be told, I am tired.
He walks everywhere,
My soles hurt, his soul doesn't.

Haven't uncovered what I have to.
Maybe I should hire a private eye?
I have been calling in sick lately,
It's time I took myself off and got back.
Maybe he isn't a crook?
But I can't return without a medal.
My head is all cluttered, his is Marie Kondo'd.

Think I will do a bit of surfing or mining.
Which would be a more profitable use of my time?
His social media posts are too squeaky clean,
Bland musings and selfies populate his pages,
Is banality the carpet under which hides the monster?
His digital footprints are spotless, but his fingerprints may not be.
I am a monitor lizard on a surfboard, he a magpie.

Let me ask around, talk to his friends and colleagues;
Maybe their testimonies will incriminate him,
But what if they are prejudiced?
He emits a stink that leaves an aura of contempt,
But he remains unperturbed, brushing off the hate nonchalantly.
I would have melted into the road if I got such scornful stares.
He is rhino skinned, Mine is like a salamander.

Starting as a dream, it's now ‘Mission Impossible: Truly, madly'.
I need Tom Cruise and his assorted team
To wrap it up nicely, without logic or rhyme.
Here we have a criminal, but no crime.
This is a cul-de-sac I have ventured into,
Can I turn around? I feel the hair at the nape of my neck twitch.
This project is over. I am finished, he is just beginning.