I guess I am peripheral,
What I do is mostly surreal,
Nothing is core or relevant,
It has always been like this – more the frill, the accent,

Right from school I leaned towards the florid,
Flirted with pastels and engrossed in affairs torrid,
I found functional subjects like math and science morbid,

When I grew up I chose my career,
Yet again from useful work I stayed clear,
My job didn’t help anyone,
No one benefited with what I’d done,

I didn’t save any lives,
Didn’t build bridges or dams so that the poor survives,

Instead I just played with words,
Wrote, rehashed, edited like a game of swords,

Of what use was this all?
How would anyone gain from it at all?

Perhaps it would make for some good reading,
But was that sufficient when the world was bleeding?