That Unperson Poem by Ananta Madhavan

To that Unperson whom I cannot see
Within the images that I have cast
I owe my tears, and now I crave to be
My anti-Self, not villainous but vast
In love or hate or agony. This blood,
That beats a passive rhythm to the tide,
Revolts against its own ineptitude,
And seeks a triumph in a purge of pride.

To him, unfashioned thus by circumstance,
Unpressed by womb-walls, uncaressed by chance,
To that Unperson I shall dedicate
My sad futility, my small renown,
And I shall cheat the might-have-been of fate
With prophecies of ironies alone.