Raindrops in asphalt cracks;
Little rivulets spangling over dead leaves
Taking them along, not seeping in enough.
To water the orphan seed, that knows not how
It found itself in the concrete jungle,
Away from its nascent future.

This must be what it feels like,
Living on the sidelines, never in the frame.
From trying to edge myself out of the picture –
The island of uneven rocks, that
Winds and water would take a long while to change.
The road less taken was always enticing
But it etched me to a place
So far away, I know not if trying to chase
The horizon was a bad idea, to start with.

Is there an organ, which stores vulnerability?
Then I’d gladly donate mine to the less fortunate
Who have not known yet, what it is like
To live in a world of mirages.

16 August 2016


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