Then there are angry people

Who claim to read every work there is

On you

And say I never existed.

That I am

The stuff of village folktales.

That because you didn't fill my hair parting

With vermilion

I was never there.

I wonder what makes them

So angry, Krishna.

So aggressive

Passionate

About proving

My inexistence.

They claim that you went to Mathura

And then Dwaraka

Killed that evil uncle of yours

Married eight beautiful princesses

Became a father

Sang your song in Kurukshetra

And then

Died.

All alone.

You lived your life

All alone.

I was not there.

It was only you.

You and you alone.

People these days

Are capable of the incapable.

The world had progressed.

But

Maybe in your next avatar

You could be an engineer

Make a device, perhaps like spectacles but better

Which makes them

Look at it all

Properly.