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Nissim Ezekiel - Minority Poem
Work rating: Medium

In my room, I talk 
to my invisible guests: 
they do not argue, but wait 

Till I am exhausted, 
then they slip away 
with inscrutable faces. 

I lack the means to change 
their amiable ways, 
although I love their gods. 

It`s the language really 
separates, whatever else 
is shared. On the other hand, 

Everyone understands 
Mother Theresa; her guests 
die visibly in her arms. 

It`s not the mythology 
or the marriage customs 
that you need to know, 

It`s the will to pass 
through the eye of a needle 
to self-forgetfulness. 

The guests depart, dissatisfied; 
they will never give up 
their mantras, old or new. 

And you, uneasy 
orphan of their racial 
memories, merely 

Polish up your alien 
techniques of observation, 
while the city burns.
Source
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