The promises of a festive season are always many. We nourish the festival and its myth in hope that it will bring into our lives some of those finest moments that we long so much to have in the present life, as the many people in the stories from past had. When some events take place that shakes us up from the conscious sleep we conveniently choose for ourselves, we say it’s bad. I thought about saying the same when I was asked to help some of my friends to provide groceries and other goods to a home for the disabled. It was under a charity organization run by one of the Christian sects. There were poor and disabled, physically and mentally. There were kids too. One of them had lost his mother just a month back. This poem, perhaps, was inspired from my visit to that home. I would like to add some value to this poem by dedicating it to those children and homeless adults.
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The intimacy of your tears
With the loneliness of my days
Cannot comprehend why
I am alone in a city of crowds.
The kindness of your words
Cannot mean why my ears go shut
At the music of laughter and
The harmony of gatherings.
The smile of your empathy
Cannot bridge the rupture
Of my redemption and someone else’s
This poem has also been published in Poem Hunter.com