I scroll through my Insta feed,
You know, it’s just the usual scene,
I’m tired, actually, scrolling through the videos that claim they’ll make you cry,
I yawn, I am about to doze off,
But then, I see a picture.
It doesn’t have any caption.
There’s just two cracked feet,
And a pair of broken slippers.
Words cease at moments like this,
It’s like there’s this vacuum,
There’s this conscience laughing at me.
It’s not amused, it’s just angry, I guess,
And it’s grieving, perhaps.
It’s fed up at my ignorance, maybe,
But then again, I don’t work well with tears,
I don’t know how to cry,
I am unaware how to let it all out,
I just, think, think, think and think about it all day ‘round.
I…I have stopped watching the news,
Since I saw those two fourteen year olds,
Who didn’t seem to find their way home,
I remember how the tears just spilt out at that moment,
It was tormenting to watch them in so disoriented,
Hell, I hadn’t cried so quickly ever in the past,
Their pain isn’t mine to claim,
I know it’s not the same,
But tears, they’re the worst traitors of all time.
I know I am not supposed to feel their pain as mine,
Because trust me, it’ll be insulting to them who are out there.
But I, being someone who has seen pain, lived through it, really,
Don’t know how to stop these tears that well up my eyes,
And I have stopped to care now, actually,
As I think I am healing by feeling for them,
I know I have done my best to help them,
But somehow it still doesn’t put me at ease…
I get up; look for something to eat,
I open the fridge, and take out the Alfredo pasta I made this morning,
I scrunch up my nose and sniff the sauce,
And put the dish to heat,
I take out my phone,
232 likes on the pasta and 200 comments.
‘How’d you made this’
‘Send me the recipe!!!!’
‘Quite a chef, huh?’
I mindlessly press that little, red heart beneath each of those,
I begin to scroll again,
To while my time, you know.
I come across this picture,
A scarred face,
Yet the most gorgeous one.
The oven beeps,
But my appetite has died,
Clicked ‘sent’ on the essay that was due,
Completed the last assignment of the lot,
I switch off the laptop. Turn off the light, and reside to bed,
A notification pops; it’s a memory of last year.
I smile looking at the tired, sweat clad face of mine,
It was of the volunteer group I was part of.
I decide to browse one last time,
Before I commence to snore in my deep slumber,
A picture caught my eye,
‘Déjà vu’ my conscience sighed,
Two people in khaki with moisture laden, frown-etched faces,
As they tried to squint their eyes to battle the sun,
And complete their duty,
The bed suddenly felt hard,
And sleep? It was nowhere to be found.
My alarm rings,
I wake up after snoozing it for like five times,
I tie my hair and go to the bathroom,
I take a look in the mirror,
It’s been a week since I last slept peacefully,
My eyes are puffy, dark circles embroider them,
I rinse my face for the hundredth time,
I go to the kitchen,
Open the fridge,
Take out the can of milk,
I am about to drink it,
But an idea pops my head,
My face breaks into a smile.
I pour the milk in a glass,
And before taking a sip,
I pray for the ones out there,
Battling, but still hanging onto life,
I see you.
And trust me I am no theist,
But this hope that blooms in my heart,
It’s new, it’s delighting,
I know it isn’t rational,
But has this mortal heart ever been so?
I know I am clinging on to some stupid hope,
It’s a bubble to shield me from reality,
But tell me has this life ever been real?
We all are feigning so many masks, yet more truths…
I know they perhaps are right,
When they say I am too optimistic
Or maybe too idealistic,
Perhaps they haven’t ever seen the beauty,
That hope brings you,
The comfort that makes you to tread on,
Even if the path seems too long,
And the destination too far…
So today, I’ll shut up my doubting mind,
And pray every time before I eat, drink or sleep,
That the people out there today, now, at this moment,
Get a whole meal, Sleep on a comfy bed and trail along
The life’s most difficult phase,
Perhaps this stupid hope will keep me at ease,
Maybe every time I pray,
I’ll remind the angels overhead,
Of their children who aren’t as privileged,
And maybe, of every part of the food I eat,
Some part of it will fill up their stomachs,
And perhaps, of every hour of sleep I get,
Some part of it will refresh them as well…
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