Not meant for me, this endless chase
Running like crazy, yet finding no solace.
Textual knowledge, forced to cram
My heart yearns for a different kind of ram.

To know the things, I do not desire
To prove those capabilities, I do not acquire.
Craving the echos of perfect numbers
Only to remain unseen, like unheard murmurs.

Was not meant for this weird system,
I can't decipher.
But in those old coffee shops,
Scribbling and pondering in the quietest corner.

Away from the city's hold,
My pen, my sword, letting the truths unfold.
From social evils to whispered plights,
Forgotten stories, I bring to light.

Beyond the shadows a world I see,
An utopia where justice blooms wild and free.
The only dream, I have of mine,
To change the world, like Betty did in her time.


© Adrija Banerjee