Inner being

It quivers inside and is worried
All the time,
About offending anyone.

A London taxi-driver
Pulls up a senior IAS officer
Counting coins for payment.

A shapely young foreign girl in Ladakh,
Comes into our room early morning
Where we stayed on way to Numra valley.

She complained that we spoke loudly,
Were making too much of noise:
We heard her out in silence, ashamed.

Could it be that such instances
Have churned up my inner to pulp
And it keeps, jelly-like, quivering always?

poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!