PRINCE SIDDHARTHA
Rita Nath Keshari
I have observed pain and suffering
And plenty of funeral processions.
I see more saints on television
Than I do in the crowded streets;
Probably this is more sensible.
Benediction also needs to be packaged
For to-day’s too busy generation.
Yet, why don’t I go on a journey,
Be Prince Siddhartha to my clerk father?
“You are not Prince Siddharth
Nor was meant to be”, bellowed
My father for the neighbours’ benefit.
My nineteen-year-old slithery target,
Dangling me until the next beau,
Relayed it to those who had missed it.
My siblings, giggling in their sleeves,
Asked for my possessions straightaway
As though the training for holy renunciation
Should begin at their hands at home.
My chums and foes in college treated me
To regular cups of tea and coffee.
I knew they were eyeing my target
Who wasn’t a bad substitute for
The well-endowed distant beauties
Who knew nothing but the best
Be it marriage prospects or market brands.
My asthmatic mother alone told me,
“You are a commoner,
Don’t renounce your common sense”.