If only we were similar, you and me

I would think of a better world

And in this moment of disparity

I would be something else than the dirt

Here to the world listening to us

I have a question, question I must

What are we? Bones, flesh or a soul?

Twisted? Corrupted? Insanely bold?

There is so much red out there

On the streets and on the bed

Crying for love, for life and for us

I think about it when I write

The wounded face, the heart of a five

His tiny hands and innocence drenched in red

Mourning our lives, the life that should have been a fest

But here we hide into our own minds

When the world burns in hatred

And in greed our souls are being sledged


© Akhand Singh, 2016 © An Empty Glass, 2016

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