Dr. Archan Mehta

Poem #1: Saintly Preaching?

 

And then,

The saints came

Marching in,

One foot in 

Front of another,

In a single file,

One by one,

And gosh,

The saints

Really demanded attention!

Boy, you will be considered

A success in this life

Only if you pursue

Medicine or law or

Engineering and so on,

Nothing else matters

Get the point, boy?

But what if you don’t

Fit into these neat, little,

Dark and convenient boxes?

Why it felt creepy

Even to think about it:

That is, to swim 

Upstream against the tide.

Those were the days

When conventional mindsets

Ruled, and you were 

Considered an oddball

If you refused to

Tow the official line.

Why, if you wanted to pursue

A life of aesthetics and imagination,

That is, dabble in poetry,

Only our good and dear Lord

Could “save” you!

The “experts” with power,

Influence and social status

Drove big ambassador cars 

And were treated like Gods

By their servile flatterers

And acolytes:

After all, the masses

Worshipped power instead of merit.

Thus, with a heavy heart,

I decided to follow my bliss

And remain true to my

Calling, despite the odds.

 

Poem #2: On Being a Poet

 

Hey, do I have

To actually spell

It out for you?

Really? Gee whiz!

As my favorite tennis

Player, John McEnroe,

Would say:

Why, you can’t be serious!

Well, rent a brain if

You don’t have one already.

I am a poet; after all,

Don’t you see, and I must

Say I am darned 

Proud of myself.

What did you expect?

That I actually work

For a living?

You gotta be kidding me, folks.

Work is what shmucks

Like you do, not yours truly.

Do you really expect me to

Turn into a corporate slave

Like you? Like everybody else?

Who do you think

You are? My role model?

Forget about it; I’m not going

To punch a clock from 9 to 9.

You see, brothers and sisters,

Soul-crushing work bothers 

Me and I suffer from acne

And sensitive skin and pimples.

I also detest people, in general,

And people hate me in return.

Why should I have to put up

With obnoxious co-workers

And sadistic bosses?

They aren’t worth a dime

Of my time and rob my energy.

I tried completing routine tasks

But found myself turning into

A zombie or robot: in fact,

I felt like a machine on steroids.

I don’t belong in any workplace:

I expect others to do my dirty

Work and I deserve credit

For everything, they do for me.

Don’t you dare try to get

To know me: I am a difficult

Person. What did you expect?

Shirley Temple?

Paul Newman?

Robert Redford?

Florence Nightingale?

Doris Day? Alice in Wonderland?

Mother Teresa?

Trust me; I am not a 

Walk in the park.

After all,

I am a poet,

For crying out loud.

And breaking rules

Is part of my game.

And, if you don’t

Like it, well,

Abandon ship

And move to

Another planet.

I guess this just

Ain’t your lucky day!

 

Poem #3: Poet’s Confusion? 

 

My pen lies

Empty of thought:

I do not know

What I seek.

I tried hiding

Under a bed:

I tried liquids

And beverages

And substances

But, in the end,

Nothing worked for me.

I wanted to be creative,

You see but could not.

Thwarted by my own

Lack of talent, haunted

By images: blurry visions

Of phantoms patrolling

Earth and sky. I picked up

My pen but could not write.

Foggy clouds descended

Over me. I was clearly

Out of touch with reality.

 

Bio: Dr. Archan Mehta