A long, long time ago, I was born in Bombay,
less than four months later, my family moved away,
only I wish they left me behind, in hindsight,
not that I don't love them but we're nothing alike,
given the last fifty years to reflect, to fight
like Hindus and Muslims during Partition, spike
obvious differences in faith, we just don't match,
nevermind I left Church after confirmation,
granted I never saw the point, was there a catch
to Catholicism, like a long vacation
in faith from whatever our ancestors believed,
mistaken religion for our identity,
elapsed photography shows no one was relieved,
as the centuries passed, of their sense of pity,
genuine compassion for the conquistadors
oblige noble ārya to act responsible,
I take any cigar straight from the humidors,
whether to suck or smoke, beyond me to quibble,
as for the last fifty years away from Mumbai,
scenery changes all but the clouds in the sky,
born and left for dead, how I wish such was my fate,
obviously, I was better off than the poor,
rejected outcasts of disenfranchised fish bait,
ne'er-do-wells, working hard, never knowing the score,
if I were switched at birth, I may then understand,
not believing in God, I cannot see His hand.
Blind men play poker best, never viewing their cards,
only they who believe trust their faith as in grace,
mindlessly, my family moved, glass broken to shards,
broken childhood with friends I can never replace,
as I wait for my turn to return to Bombay,
yet I know not with whom I shall travel one day.
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