Rice Crackers Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

He got for me a present -
biscuits made of puffed rice
from Burma.
Being an old-timer, he loves to say Burma.
I asked my son - now Myanmar -
isn't it?
My son kept quiet.

In South Korea I ate these biscuits -
they say rice crackers.
Quite tasty and crunchy -
I love them.
Rice binds us.

How many things do bind us?
We do not maintain record.
We do not count similarities.
Dissimilarities are more attractive.
Distinctiveness is based on dissimilarity.

This world is so similar,
so familiar,
yet so unfamiliar.
'Familiarity breeds contempt.'
Unfamiliarity breeds violence - instant violence.

He is not like me.
I am not like him.
The difference between him and me
drives both him and me
to finish the unfinished job.

Unfinished job.
An end.
The end.