What If ...

What if I were a labor born,
With a different hum and a tragic song.
Would've quoted Marx and inspired revolution.
Would've witnessed fall and mired in convolutions.
But who could say, I may have been a Stalin.


Yet, I am a bourgeois child of education,
create wealth and unwary of rations.
Ideas and theories rule my day,
even though I falter and get asway.
But who could say, I may not be one.






I would've born a woman and borne signs of omen,
enamored men and ruled the heavens.
Begotten a child and shape the humans,
and then get crushed under all and lost in oblivion.
But who could say, I may have been a Teresa.


And I am a man, hoping in vain,
haughty and contemptuous, with both brawn and brain.
Masochist and sad as I tend to be,
I wonder whether that applies to me.
But who could say, I really may not be one.


I would've born a leader,
created, tamed and allayed fear.
Taken own course and bent the ways,
created nations and ideologies that stays.
But who could say, I may have been a Hitler.


And I am a common man, a citizen of a nation,
an idea, passed onto me through generations.
Placed as part of a whole,
I feel in all parts my presence as a hole.
But who could say, I may have been a Sachin.


I could've been many of these and
could've been none.
But what I am , is incidentally ,none,
for in being none lies, a mark of my own.