By Sumeet Kumar Mitra
Staring at me is a dark shadow,
I see a man through the glass window,
His eyes are red, a hand amputated,
A stick in the other, wanting to be comforted,
I look back at him, my heart reaching out to help,
But I stop; somehow I can't and walk away,
I am powerless..
A dear one sheds a tear,
Grief grips everything near,
Dreams are so easily broken,
So many things remain unspoken,
I stand there praying the pain would disappear,
But it remains and i merely stand, one amongst the crowd at the rear,
I am powerless..
A small boy of 10 years, with scars on his back,
Ones he got for stealing from a rice stack,
I preach to him the vice that is stealing,
He says his mother back home is ailing,
No one to fend for his 2 little sisters,
The child says "You are rich; It's easy for you to preach"
"An act like this was out of my reach"
At that moment I felt powerless..
Blessed with many things in this birth,
I have much but i still feel the emotion of dearth,
Then i think of those without these boons,
Wishing to give them their share of life's blooms,
But can i give back their years gone by?
I sit behind the glass window, overcome with feelings to aid the helpless,
But the fact of the matter is; I myself am powerless..