HALF A DROP

On the roadside,
In the slums,
Cries that are never heard,
Lost in the blast
Of noisy music
Playing in the buildings nearby,
Unheard is the pain,
And therefore not there,
For people are too busy to notice,
Lost in the bliss of ignorance.

How am I any different?
Stuck writing poems without purpose,
Hollow words,
Emerging from a pen
That will never be mighty,
Maybe lacking conviction,
Or afraid,
Faced by an empty ocean
It can never fill.

What can I do alone,
Not much,
Perhaps add half a drop,
Almost worthless,
Soon absorbed by the ocean bed,
But hopefully, one day,
There will be enough to start a stream,
A gush that will silence the noise
And wash away the pain...

Although I wonder,
When that day comes,
Will it already be
Too late?

~ Rahul Misra ~


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