"If only she were more patient",
a dad complains,
visibly impatient that his newspaper is late.
"No other courses to take?"
the mother joins in,
undecided on what breakfast to make.
"Children these days!",
laments the grandpa,
still bitter that grandma doesn't make coffee his way.
"Someone's misguided her. It's not fair!",
the thirty year old,
whose father still dictates what he should wear.
"Wait until next year, she wasn't too old",
fussy that his FB page won't load.
"Poor little girl! There's more to life!",
the dead gatekeepers to funeral pyres.
A child is dead. We killed her dreams.
Let's not debate if she did it right to leave.
Let's unite to resolve, so children can believe ~
That the torch bearers ahead, have left some light indeed.
Friday, September 1, 2017
So was looking to buy some #Bira beer cans for the better half while in Bangalore. Dint know where to go and was just randomly walking down some road. Saw a rag picker, limping with a stick, thanks to a huge wound on his leg. Suddenly feeling rich, I went up to him and offered a hundred rupee note, which he looked at with great disbelief, leaving me feel more benevolent than Mother Teresa.
I soon found the shop I was looking for. As they were packing my order, the rag picker walks in and orders his drinks, waving the hundred rupee note at the counter.
I was enraged for quite some time. Though, now I do realize, he's entitled to do what he wants with his money, as I am with mine.