My Tenth Word

Harrowed by an experience
drawn unnecessarily
into a controversy,
I stand two meters apart
from gossip and slander.

Quietude is my weapon
I refrain from talking
speak out only when required
restricting to few syllables,
gestures turn pronounced.

When I was ten years old,
my cousin, fairly senior to me
offered me a big piece
of chocolate when I came out with
my tenth word for that day.

Bustle is not my cup of tea
I walk away from the crowd
finding myself trapped
lose my equanimity, When
about to scream,

I contain myself, walk away,
scoffing and seething
with indignation as seen
in my eyes, not a word
I speak.