Crowded

These days

I find myself

increasingly in love with 

things which I once abhorred:

like crowds,

yes, crowds.

You see, I have my reasons:

A crowd

is the safest place to be

when you are 

a wounded animal.

It lets you

grunt and growl

and lick the wounds

till you're ready

to hunt again.

Nobody will notice.

A crowd

is where you should be

if you want to play

say, hide and seek.

At times 

you might get lost

that is, lost forever

never able to find 

who you were.

But that's okay

part of the game.

Once in a crowd

you can slough off

all your apprehensions.

Flimsy pretexts of 

love and care

nagging doubts of

right and wrong

won't even dare

to come near you.

Instead, you are blessed 
with courage and skill

of course, to kill.

One can hardly miss

the unfathomable 

benevolence of a crowd.

Always keeps you locked

in its giant embrace

until  you give in

and replenish yourself

to a new birth.

Faceless and soulless. 

But do you know what the sad part is?

All its virtues

have yet not made me

the loyal follower

the obedient soldier

that I would like to be.

Still, at times

I feel

that I need to get 

my voice back

from the labyrinth of

its endless sounds.

But it'll pass, Iam  sure.

For who can resist

and who wants to miss

the might that is 

the bliss that is

the crowd.