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Have we met before, somewhere In a crowded train Where associations like fleeting cars Carries cramped memories Were you at some school with me And learned the contours of my face It is your eyes, madam They linger like a slap on me Behind their curtains I see disdain Why am I always angry? Quite to the contrary, Madam, you misread All my lines That gravity trenched upon my skin To plant life's sorrows in Angry? Not at all Rage is the helplessness of pity. Pity then, I feel for every man Following the coordinates of laws Like specks on electronic screens What about my dungeoned culture And the cremation of its tongue I sing the song of the vulture now And hope they understand Communication is not for me, Madam I know am sure of what's in my heart And still can braille a gesture While things fall apart The more you speak the more you are concealed The thicker the veil of self But I can feel a word pulsing in your heart It is begging for forgiveness But, Madam, you won't let it cry.