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Silent Struggles Focus Empathy in the Concrete Jungle

Every time that woman who wore
weariness on her face
like a sadhu’s stoicism
and carried an emaciated child on her lap
while pleading for an iota of my empathy –
looked at me,
my eyes stared into hers
and saw the shimmering light of
high-rises reflect on them,
a lullaby drifting
and caress of a moon’s ray
rocking the cradle.

Every time that man
whose hairline receded
like the retreat of a glacier
and who carried a heavy bag
on his drooping shoulders
as he delivered the groceries –
came to my door,
I thought about the glow of
a sunset on the horizon
falling on a neat sofa
An old couple sipping tea
and a grey zone turning pink.

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