Different Shades

All these years, I’ve been thinking,

That the world has hundreds of kinds of people - 

The Italians, the Spaniards, the Americans, the British, the Chinese

And yes, the Indians and so on.

There are close to two hundred countries,

So I have come to learn just recently.

And every country has a tonne of races and faces and grimaces - that mazes

And thus, there’s a thousand different people.

But as I ponder more and more on this paradigm shift - 

That the globe has yet to come to terms with,

I’ve come to believe that there’s just a handful of kinds of people.

Now would you humor me a bit? 

 

The kind that comes to mind first (I know you read my mind)

Is the nurse who is a mother and the doctor who is a father - 

Who’s been torn away from a crying baby or a yearning toddler

Or a perplexed teenager.

Their hearts leave them all the time and go back home,

But with every cry and wail of the diseased, they pull back their tears.

It has been weeks or months since they’ve felt the tiny hands

And kissed those little soft cheeks.

And I wonder when this will all stop 

And when the mother who has been nursing hundreds to vigor,

Can hug her own little ones with the bottled up fervor

When she finally returns home.

The doctor who fears for his life

Cannot imagine what his family will do without him - 

Who will teach his son to ride the bike and who will pay for his college?

Who on earth will be ‘Father of the bride’?

 

He has not much time to think though

Because he has life or death decisions to make.

How he’d rather want to leave it to God and merely give his best shot to save!

But the predicament is his. It has to be his choice!

Another kind of people that come to mind

Are the ones who’ve suffered a loss.

And the number increases each day and the world’s eyes glued on it

Seldom realizing that every single number lugs a grieving family.

And yet another are the ones who’ve lost their source of living.

They grapple every night with the same question - 

And wake with the same nightmare every morning;

How can I put food on the plate? 

Those who’ve taken on foot to reach their hometowns,

Leaving behind the hopes and dreams and only holding on to dear life;

With little ones propped up on shoulders and waists, these pilgrims

Have stepped on burning coals on this pilgrimage.

And then yet another people are the defenders of the law - 

The ordinary policeman with only a lathi at his charge;

And the armed men securing the borders. They are fighting two enemies.

One that is seen and one that is invisible.

I think also of the administrators and workers,

And Prime Ministers and Presidents and Rulers - 

Those with the herculean tasks that can change the destinies of many.

How difficult it might be to sleep at night!

Then again there’s the rest of the world

That can stay at home and spend time with the family

And relish the food made at home and sip on that dalgona coffee

And still feel awful for being held up at home.

I realize that there are a lot of other shades

And that the world’s a kaleidoscope -

But times like these skew your vision and all things begin to appear black

And white and that is just how I happened to see it in this rhyme!