What Else Could I Have Done Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

I write.
Yes, I write -
else what could I have done?

They do not have time for me.
They have better things to do.
Why would they read the stuff?

Yet I write.
One after the other.
About the sky, or flowers, face or mind.

All these are silly things,
meaningless.
He could have taken up a menial job.
Yes, menial.
I do that with my mind.

What else could I have done?

Do I find any meaning in it?
I keep quiet.
A look into the distance
where you can't reach.

Meaningless, yet profound,
it helps me to hold on to.
What? I don't know.

Yet I know -
a question that doesn't answer
is the only question
I could ever ask.

All else sleeps, quiet.