Poem: Four
By: Prathap Kamath
As the fourth one
I always smelt victory,
mouth watering
standing close to the third,
but never had it.
The victory stand
had room only for three.
I lived in the middle land
between the wanted
and the unwanted.
From one side I looked
good, even admirable;
from the other,
pitied, even scorned.
I live under cover
because the curfew
has cast me out
ruling that wherever I appear
after the third
the whole shall be arrested
and locked behind the bars.
The dilemma of doing well and not yet making it… Feel like it’s a poem right out of my mind. A poem written for me.
Thank you very much