The Soul Is 'On Protest' Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

Who are you and what are you thinking of me?
I am your soul, imprisoned forever in your deeds,
As the works are the results of the thoughts,
Your house is too messy for me to be pleased,
Everything is left somewhere, not correlated,
Your actions are incoherently superficial as I am,
Clumsily crumbled in your otherwise clean mind,
Keep me safe to be a confidant and well wisher,
What you do is what you think and incubate,
For thousands of years of your birth and death,
You set the doves free many times into the sky,
I have followed you ever since as the shadow
To tolerate with your nonsense as the animal skin,
Most of the times, sometimes You do give me the toffee,
To pacify my anger, frustration and annoyance,
It is not easy to be a silent partner,
Who is blamed for all your actions,
It is hard to be the major shareholder,
Of the miniscule entity, where the thieves,
of the senses are appointed as the trustees,
What is the use of adding catalysts,
When the reactants can react on its own,
Surging of avalanche of electrons,
Surfacing of the free spirits that has no fizz,
I want to resign and go away,
Take in charge of your own actions,
Without mentioning of my name,
The next thousand years of your birth,
Democracy may rule, not the anarchy.