By Jenifa Sultana
On my way to college,
Everyday I see a blind woman and her two children,
She sits by the bridge with a plate in hand.
She sits there from the morning to noon,
With her children near, playing with sand.
I always wonder about the ways I could help,
Yet I pass by without getting a chance,
if one day, it's my rush,
then the next, I forget to take a glance.
Everytime I see her, I wonder how she is so brave,
Surrounded by darkness yet she sits there with no sign of fear,
I look at her children so unfortunate,
yet not a single drop of tear.
But what worries me is not her, as I know she's brave, but her children.
I see them looking at the people passing by and I wonder what they might be thinking about.
Do they think about their whereabout?
Or do they wonder, "What it feels like,
To have people waiting for you with warm smiles?
To have a cozy bed ready for you after a day full of trials,
To exist in a world where people pay less attention to profiles,
To live in a world where humanity prevails and doesn't only exists in books or files."
Questions that are a mystery to many,
To us may seem uncanny.
Or maybe I am just overthinking,
Maybe they have a great father,
who has no habit of drinking.
Maybe they all eat together, laughing and smiling,
Maybe the kids tell their father about their adventures instead of complaining.
Maybe we think their sad because all we see is their poverty,
because to us the unfortunate being content equals novelty.