I Lost My Name – Delhi Poetry Slam

I Lost My Name

By Aayushi Rawat

Deepak!

A sweet lady’s voice fades in the background
As I dash through the dingy streets of Shahdara,
Into a house with cracks and crevices—
Lingers the smell of dal-rice.

The sun sets on the horizon;
Darkness desolates me,
As I sit under the solitary street light.
A letter to God is what I write:
“Dear God, I want to be police.”

Dinner scenes soon set in:
Leftover rice mixed with salt and water.
Mother turns away her face,
Perhaps to hide a teary eye:
“Papa is on his way with the dal.”

I still sometimes wait for that dal.
A man arrives, drenched in dirt;
Air chokes on the stench of feces.
I storm off in disgust
His head bows down in shame.

He descends into darkness daily—
Dives that should've been divine,
Now merely a dip of death.
Toxic fumes ingest his lungs;
Is this the price for my dal-rice?

Years later, condolences reach my doorstep—
His photo covered with a garland,
Yet his frame enshrouded in filth
There's no dignity even in death.
Life of a Dalit so remains;
His son wanders the same lanes.

The old rusty cabinet still holds
A sweet blast from the past—
Bittersweet note with faded ink:
“Your name is your identity, Deepak.
Better not lose it all.”

This grim legacy is all I blame
In the end, I lost my name.
In the next lifetime, maybe I shall smile
At a chance for this inner child
To say Just for Once:
Hey, look, I didn’t lose it all.


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