The Martyr

How I spurn humans!
Is there not an inkling of love in me?
What is love with its many forms?
Overwhelmed with rage I am,
For no particular reason.
How the emotions dominate!

I have neither enemy nor friend–
What am I?
No kin to Society nor Man,
What am I?
Engulfed in rage, I feel the fire burning within.
Suffering, O the intensity!
Suffering that cannot be denied–
That screams for an escape.
The infinite suffering I wish to deny
To live within man's limits.

A sob breaks out from within;
Heartbroken and exhausted I am as I ask:
Must life be a struggle?
Can I not live like the trees–
Swaying to the hot winds and cold breezes alike?
No! I am human.
Why should I be allowed to live like a tree?

Human I am, I say–
Yet here I am living amongst ants!
Content with feeding their Queen all their lives,
They are but martyrs in this world of work.
I do not wish to be a martyr.
How dare I?
Have I no sense of responsibility?
To seek to be idle like a tree–
How disgusting!

Look at the Queen.
She is idle yet unhappy.
She likes neither Herself nor Her workers.
Her workers suffer for all their industry.
They carry on without question.
Their bellies are filled and their children reared like them.
They are told that this is contentment.
They believe what they hear but they never find content for real.
They are but ants!

She too suffers
For She knows the price at which
She must seek Her own content.
Yet they cannot escape the nest they are stuck in;
They fear what lies beyond.
They are but ants!

O infinite suffering!
Torture me no more.
To love and suffer like every man,
I accept.
I will be another martyr for the Queen.

Sounak Banerjee is a recent graduate in Sociology from Hindu College, Delhi University. He loves reading books, especially philosophy and fiction and mulling over them for days afterwards.

Featured image: Kevin Lee / Unsplash

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