Priceless

Are not we too like ragpickers

Scrounging for gold on piles of dirt,

Hurling the plastics out fast,

And choosing the shiny ones to flirt,

A wise man but told me once,

It's not the gold that ragpickers seek,

Gold is what keeps them alive,

But stories are written on plastic.

In the end, with vigour gone and no gold availed,

The plastics shall tell of my journey failed.

© Nirmalya Panigrahi