In my dream I am asked to rate myself on a scale of 1-5 for being a decent human

Bharti Bansal

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I remember stuttering, then asking questions 
I ask them if I can use decimal numbers
If the wholeness of my being can be reduced 
To a period
And the numbers after it 
I wait for my turn
Recollecting all my mistakes in this catapult my brain is
Readying to ricochet back to my past
I ask them about love
And they do not answer back
They say remembrance is a sin
But I have always been nostalgic
They laugh
Isn't laughter a moment of quiet remembering
One by one, we move ahead
On a train track, our feet, the wheels in this slithering motion
Falling and steadying ourselves up
As the time saunters, we sing along
Until it all collapses down to a single number
I say I am a 2 maybe
And they ask
Did you speak up for your people
I do not nod
I do not answer back
Woken up by my mother,
Asking me to have my lunch
I rub my eyes
And pretend that as long as love will win wars,
as they convince us
I will be a good person
Sitting silent
Watching everything fall down 
Through my window on a Sunday morning
I rate myself a solid 3.

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_{Bharti Bansal is a third-year student at IIT Madras studying Data Science and Applications.}