The Story

I `m telling a story
The intention’s not glory
Nor courage or drama
Neither is it compassion
My soul’s too selfish
To pick up the bastion…
It’s a thought unfulfilled
With a plea to fill
With colors of individuality
And a bit more still…

Those were my early days
Questions aplenty - did we raise!
I learnt the lessons
Alas I had to memorize!
Thin lines there were,
Between truth and their lies…

To practice dharma
I was told.
The path to salvation,
Never knew, was so cold.

In the winters, when we felt,
There was no better time.
Discovered some lines..
That just didn’t rhythm.
On the streets lay a man,
Laboring to die.
He broke sometimes in shivers
Couldn’t even cry…

As we rushed to him,
There were people in our way,
There could be more trouble - they said
When there was none…
There are more in this world
You are not the destined one!

We watched him stupefied,
Being devoured by cruelty,
Not only him,
Many of us died that day,
To live it over again,
Come what may…

It’s a complex world…
I thought.
Still searching for dharma
Chanting unabashedly…
'Serving people meant karma'