Privileges

I couldn't see the tears in his eyes,
when I said how salty my food was
because his source of salt were his tears
and alas ! He was content

I couldn't feel the pain in his hurting toes
when I said how bad it felt to commute standing,
because his feet had grown, but his shoes were old
and alas ! He stood tall

I couldn't understand why he kept his head down,
when I said I was tired holding up the gaze to my drinks,
because, he wanted to sleep, but didn't have a home to go to,
and alas ! He rested well

And then I looked in the mirror,
For Privileges are often invisible,
there are no reflections of it.

I still was immersed in why I deserved more,
just because I was used to it.
And then, he walked away. 

Walking in Rain

As the thunder lights the sky
searching for cracks
And as the drop finds it way
to the depth of those tracks
I go for a walk and watch closely,
the earthworms rolling by

I try, hard and try again
to bring up a thought plain
It ends up to be a rain drop
crushed between my red, flip flop

Hastly, I remove my feet,
to find the water vanish
Tip toe, tip toe, totter tot
I hold the drops in my thought

Now, my mind is drifted far apart
Through the unseen river beds
Would the drop still part ?
If only it was flow instead ?

Down I go, Down I go
Fast with the river flow
A rock, a pebble, a fish plop
Nowhere, I see the rain drop

Why would a drop not be unique ?
How it's existence seems so bleak ?
I hit a crack, and came back
Perhaps, all that matters is the followed track ?

Why do then drops form ?
And why it vanishes with the storm ?
Why can't water fall like cloud ?
And why is unity not allowed ?

Seed

I am not a rooted old tree,  

but a seed with wings,
totally capable of flying , 

to find other fertile and nurturing land

 My aim is growth, not stagnation or dying ;
 for the dearth of nurture I deserve

I wish to fly

Refugee

I do not own copyrights for this picture.
Downloaded from web.

 Refugees, will never be home

It will always be the bread crumbs,
given at the mercy of silence, 

It will be always be one more self respect,
sacrificed for mere existence

It will be always be the sweat and blood,
and teary flood,

For the fear of loosing a ground,
they will hang their head

And walk with shame, for they themselves know,

they are not home,

And what is left behind,

is no longer a home.

- Shweta

(Poem Copyright - S. Singh)