The Ease of Pointing a Finger

“What do you do this for
this seeking attention
what pleasure?”

The suddenness of the question
the stab, the pain
what had I done so wrong?

“You are passing signals
allowing their thoughts to go berserk
what fun arousing their imagination?”

I kept wondering
how wrong could a smile be
sharing a laugh in the tragedy of life!

I conjecture at the perceptions
how environments, upbringing work
the ease of raising a finger!

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Forlorn

They thought she was asleep
Bored of class, all the work
They could not see within
Despair, gloom

They thought she was tired
A hectic day, schedule
They could not see through
The lost will, hopelessness

They thought she was overworked staying in for too long
They knew not her fear of world
The will to die, disappear

She probably had cold
A handkerchief in her hand
A wet pillow away from sight
Knew of her agony all through

Tired, separated, dejected
Her life, she felt, wasted
Not a person of same tongue
Not a hand to help up.

Weakened

When we hear about someone committing a suicide we judge them. That they are weak and incapable to manage and adopt as one should. That they chickened out of something simply because they did not have the guts to go through it.

But then who knows what was going on in their mind? We never get to know the calamity that might have befallen them. We criticise them simply because they accept and show that they are weak. That they are only humans.

No one can just go on and on. Everyone has a breakpoint somewhere. And by idealising what behaviour one should choose we are further promoting suicides. Because when someone knows they have fallen weak or failed at something, they know they won’t be accepted anymore. It is not their weakness ┬áthat kills them. It is our stereotyping that does.

A Year Back

Flipping-the-pages

I remember back a year this time
we all had horror speaking through eyes

We tried in vain to console the heart
but he knew more than he was taught

Hope that flickered on every call
trying frantically, maybe someone would get my call

Alas! for a week I lay inconsolable
thinking of the worst with those betraying tears

Ah! how I had seen the devastation from so far
so keen to keep an eye on everything from here.

And yet I got no news of anyone dear
only a frantic sister who cried as hard

That one night after a week so long
when suddenly someone from home had called

I didn’t know the number displayed
but i was too happy someone could connect

Even if a stranger i could ask a little
only turning out to be my own sister

And what relief to hear my dear mother
how i had yearned so long to hear her

Yeah, everyone was fine in there
thought flooded, my dad was still there.

And how i felt grief come over
what was the need for dad to stay there?

How i longed to go back to him
how much i cared and how much i missed him

Gradually everyone called in to say
how they are fine and nothing to be afraid

Though I had my own conflicts with family
I then knew they were no less than the deity up there!