Stranger in a strange city.
Protect yourself.
Wear a mask.
Protect from whom?
One virus makes me foreign.
Unwanted, unnecessary and mean.
Suddenly I am an alien.
In the city alien, familiar city alien.
In my alien country.
An Island within the Country.
Feeling of shame, humiliation.
I realize the remoteness in me.
Muted, starved, exhausted.
My labour is what is wanted,
Not I.
Market-based labour market.
Daily wager, coolies,
Adhoc workers, contractual staff.

Long roads,
Sleeping rails
Killing fields.
Dancing death.
Fear of dying 'here'.
There should be four to carry.
'Why was I born?' feeling.
Blame poverty, blame the city.
Why don't 'they' suffer?

The rustic place which drove me out
builds the bandhan.
I know everyone.
No one will chase me out.
There or not there
I eat something all the time.
My mean labour earns me respect.
All are my bandhan
No man is foreign.
This is my nativity.