I seem to be under par
Almost always
Except when I see myself
In print.

Out of step
With the world out there
Swooning over Dow Jones
And sensitivity index,
I court flak
And risk opprobrium
For being a miner
Digging for the trove lying within.

The chaos and complexities
Swirling all around me notwithstanding
I try to cultivate my own garden
Once the self-expression
Is up to scratch
The life will sort itself out
Of its own accord.

First published in Calcutta Times

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