The Plight

We breathe, we live, battling the everyday plight.

Plight?

Yours and mine,

Yours to quest for bread and butter to quench hunger,

Mine to make a break for expectations.

Yours to find a roof to sleep soundly,

Mine to let go of the decayed bouquet of a home that once fragranced.

Oh! Now spreads out foulness of rotten petals.

Yours to halt the flowing sweat out of hard work to make a life,

Mine to rather see the thorn, sand, and bed of roses of a trail blended by the light of joy that shows the path forward.

Yours to widen eyes to rather see the double face of the abode out of a globe in its profound sense,

Mine to shut my eyes and turn blind to the judgmental crowd.

Yours to bloom while being a lotus bud that grows midst the mud and messiness along your way, awaiting the sun to plant his kiss on you.

Mine to slow my pace and embrace the moments rather than passing by, to feel, to relish - the essence of love, laughter, and a self is often forgotten along the rat race.

Well, we see through each other the glimpse of our core yet us tongue-tied while we feel each other yet not there.

We stare at our frozen hands to lift up and wipe off the tears of pain carried all through the years.

Because,

The world cuffs our hand to not move when other hands need ours.

Or silences us when our voices need to speak for others.

Or pulls us back when we lean our shoulders to let others rest their head.

Or scratches off

The religion of compassion injects the poison of hate as faith.

Oh, dictation the world seeks, hence obliged our fenced self.

High time for wisdom to knock on the doors of our minds that

There, the hands that once got despised are the one that carries us to the grave.

The voice, once we are silenced, be the one that mourns while we burn to ashes.

For,

Before the death's vision,

Humans are no divisions.

Well, mere species that breathe and get defied by it.

JUST LIKE OTHERS.