The Non-Conformist Poem by nithya raghavan

I sit in the last bench,
wearing the badge of a dunce,
whose hands shoot up,
like a rocket with its burning end,
at every statement made,
by my teacher,
who finds every dropp of time,
wasted on my 'silly' questions,
when intellectuals around me,
bend into their books,
plastering their mouths with cement,
watching me being dragged,
into the headmaster's office,
who shows my way to,
the outside world around me.

even if i grow up,
to forget the year,
when my feet bore itself,
in the desert sand,
dried of the scorching sun,
my breakthrough the glass,
chains, which pulled my,
neck in all directions,
will hold itself firmly,
to the roots of my soil,
the successful dog,
which broke free,
into the deserted streets of the city.

i, a deaf and dumb individual,
deaf and dumb to,
the gossip which plasters,
itself on thousands of lips,
horses with glinkers,
moving in a single direction,
look up to me,
as i roar like a hound,
to the golden stretches of farm
land, serene white mountains,
and sleepy waterfalls,
at how proud i am,
to lead a tortuous life,
of a true non-conformist............................