Human
I would hate it if you called me an Indian; tracing my rudiments to an unfathomable myriad of customs and aboriginal traditions,
I would hate it if you called me a Russian; linked various stages of my life to stringent vodka; and exhilarating games of chess,
I would hate it if you called me a Chinese; harboring tiny pairs of eyes; and an intrinsic tendency in my blood to feast on tantalizingly roasted sea food,
I would hate it if you called me an Englishman; blurting countless sentences a day in bombastic slang; blushing to more crimson than the scarlet rose; in poignant alacrity of the stupendously cold winds,
I would hate it if you called me a turbaned Sikh; disseminating oligarchic cigar smoke towards the azure cosmos; brandishing my enemies with valiant strokes of my scintillating sword,
I would hate it if you called me a staunch Muslim; ferociously beating the drums in order to appease Almighty Lord; sagaciously reading through the Quran-e-Sharif; umpteenth number of times in the sweltering day,
I would hate it if you called me a Christian; profusely relishing port wine and robust lamb; whispering with snobbish sonority; as the breeze tried to swipe the majestic candles away,
I would hate it if you called me an Afghani; pampering my royal beard to the fullest as the minutes unveiled; glowing more fairer than the Sun at times; as the moon bloomed full throttle in the resplendent sky,
I would hate it if you called me a Japanese; existing in a world of earthquakes and technology; attired in an oriental tycoon suit; and horn rimmed glasses fitting snugly to the bridge of my nose,
I would hate it if you called me a Scotsman; embellishing my dwelling with exotic ivory and titillating cheese; frolicking in the Alps with my boisterously ebullient kin,
I would hate it if you called me a German; towering like a gentle giant above the ground without a boot on my ingenious feet; riding in supreme exultation every instant on the frontiers of spell binding innovation,
I would hate it if you called me a Hindu; chanting entury old hymns in front of the Omnipotent Lord; entrenching my feeble wrists in a vivid festoon of sacred thread,
I would hate it if you called me an African; dancing in frenzied passion to the beats of the voluptuous jungle; with a jugglery of Herculean muscle protruding from beneath the layers of my magnificently sooty skin,
I would hate it if you called me an Australian; fantastically juggling bountiful discs towards the sky; munching mesmerizing burgers; as the sands by the sea metamorphosed to a perfect golden,
I would hate it if you called me a Burmese; indigenously thumping the soil to appease the rain Gods; swimming voraciously amidst the waves; to capsize my share of fish,
I would hate it if you called me a Pakistani; marching through the streets like a king in my robes of Persian silk; enriching myself in a world of song and princely poetry,
I would hate it if you called me a Buddhist; admiring my tonsured scalp which shone more seductively thanthe cascading waterfalls; incessantly gallivanting through a tunnel of statues and monarchs,
And I would equally hate it if you called me or compared me even a fraction with Almighty Lord; possessing magical powers to transform threadbare mud into glittering gold,
Instead I would be overwhelming honored; could slain my life this very instant for all of you out there; if only you christened and embraced me; as a human.
Font size:
Submitted by nikhilparekh on October 03, 2019
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:58 min read
- 12 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | X X X X X A A X X B C X B C X X X X C |
---|---|
Characters | 3,439 |
Words | 594 |
Stanzas | 19 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 |
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"Human" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 Nov. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/50076/human>.
Discuss the poem Human with the community...
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In