ABOUT THE POEM: This poem explores the disintegration of identity through loss, exile, and emotional abandonment. The speaker reflects on who he once was, who he became, and the forces that reshaped him—systems, people, and love itself. His voice moves between confession and quiet endurance, tracing how longing can survive even after selfhood collapses. The piece wrestles with dignity, memory, and the painful question of whether the past version of oneself can ever be reclaimed.What if I stood before her one day,
and she asked through her eyes,
what happened to you?
How would I face her?
I am not what I used to be.
I am a nobody without use,
a person with nothing to lose.
In other words,
I was too dumb to hold on to anything,
and now I have nothing to share.
They have rehabilitated me into this.
I think of you-what if you saw me here,
like this?
You would have your reasons to go,
but the reason I am here-
even the man I once was-
is gone.
I didn’t want anything from anyone,
and the moment they realized
I couldn’t give them what they wanted from me,
they removed me from society.
A character that refused to compromise
finally faced the price of love-
sold on counters, folded in sheets,
never once given freely.
They murdered me with that truth
and wrote my own name on the confession.
They stripped me of my name,
my form, my shape, my weight,
even my human rights.
I would not complain,
but here, even if I breathe or drink,
it weakens my claim.
I fight for the right to own
by staying.
Do not call me by my name when you see me.
I do not know what I would do,
for one cannot hide
from the person one belongs to.
And yet, looking into your eyes-
it is not easy,
but I might manage to remain.
People kept passing, passing by.
I have stared at millions of them,
but no one came close.
I am not complaining.
And I know you would have other things to do-
the things people do in the world to live.
I am only saying,
I might never again visualize myself
as the person who once stood equal to you-
but I will always remember him
while looking down.
I heard you found someone to love you.
I do not know what to say.
You had to, at some point in life.
Not a day goes by when I do not think about you.
Your laugh and your giggle-
and the way joy lit you when you looked at me-
felt like distant sunshine
breaking through dark, rainy streets.
I am not going to say any of this to you.
I am only saying: no one came here,
except an old, “How do you do?”
Looking through the iron bars at the moon
behind the branches of a tree, I thought:
What if you were mine?
And just then reality struck me-
I can’t even reach the air blowing outside.
Life is monstrously and monotonously large-
large enough to let a man imagine
every impossible fantasy
before crushing it under its heel.
I might not be able to tell you anything.
You might not even recognize me, like this.
Our eyes have spoken for ages,
but I am afraid I will not even tell you
that it is me.
