Invisible Ink

I do not recall a day or time
When I entered into an agreement — signed a contract —
With the world at large, a group
A society, a country, a religion

Though, now that I think again —
Perhaps I did make agreements
Thinking I was only signing
Legal documents — terms and conditions

When I signed a job contract, a mortgage, a marriage certificate
Or applied for a licence —
But those were different kinds of contracts
I was buying a service, a product, making a commitment —
Trading time and effort for a wage, or something in kind

But I don’t remember signing anything —
Not with the government, the police, the courts, the tax office
Not with the people on my street —
My neighbours, the newspapers, the shopkeepers
Colleagues, friends —
Not even with my parents, my siblings
Or my own children

And yet — I am beholden
To all of them
My speech, my actions, time and effort —
From morning to night —
Are shaped, adjusted, moderated —
Consciously or not —
By people
With whom I made no binding deal

No terms were written, spoken, or signed —
No rights, no responsibilities
No exit clause, no notice period
Nothing was agreed

Still —
Each day, I act
As if an agreement exists
And they do too —
They act the same —
As if we all signed something
Long ago

I wonder if the contract
Was written in invisible ink —
And I just can’t see it now

Why must I smile at my neighbour —
But not at a stranger at a bus stop
In the shop, on a train, just passing by

Why care for my happy child
Buy him gifts —
And not the one begging
Working, starving, crying
On the street

Why sit silent in a classroom
Before a teacher
A speaker, a preacher on a pulpit

Why judge those who don’t act like me —
Who don’t smile back, meet my eyes
Or return my respect

Why fear opinions, seek approval, expect goodwill
From strangers — even those who read these words
Why, from dawn to dusk
Must I shape how I appear —
To thousands I will never know

I remember — I did learn
Somehow, I agreed:
To be respectful, to care for family
To honour elders, learn from teachers
To mind my neighbours
Be humble, kind, considerate —
And succeed

Every word — brother, father, mother
Teacher, neighbour, stranger —
Was a contract
Written in invisible ink
On the slate of my mind —
Something —
Called mind

But now, I find no slate, no mind and no me —
Only these words
Emptied of meaning
Visible
As I write and read them.

In these, I find no contract
No agreement that binds —
Nor the me who would be bound

And still — like a robot
An automaton —
The agreement is etched
Somewhere unknown —
And I move through the day
As if there is an agreement —
With some, but not with others