“The third world and the first”, they say
“is not the same.” – “Us first,
then them.” – “It’s us and them”, they say
as if it was rehearsed.
As if our lives were not the same
flickers of existence —
which is itself without a name,
a birthless, deathless essence;
In waxing moon, or bird, or fish
in shoals of bright colours,
or part of the sun in the flesh,
or rising clouds, contours.
“Divide them to minorities,
we’ll pull the reins”, they think.
“We’ll stay afloat through policies
and if they sink, they sink.”
But our life-world is one, I know
for I have looked within
and seen the waves come down as snow
and float where I have been;
Before — though only in a dream
recalled, or déjà vu
on days like this, each phantom beam
a face of life that grew.
They think, “your freedom is worth less
than mine.” But We must Love
and forgive, for hate is worthless –
just sorrow comes thereof.
They may act as though they own us
and take away our rights,
lest their darkness might corrupt us
we bring day into their nights.
Their hands they might force on us, but
they cannot touch our hearts,
nor can they keep at bay the flood
of our countless stars.
They mumble to themselves that they,
“know better than the rest”,
their ignorance then pave a way
forlorn from east to west.
We all have dreams and nightmares too,
but let us wake our dreams!
Your heart’s own hope is my hope too,
of trust the cloth and seams.
All hearts are red, all bones are white,
each eye’s pupil is black,
and though not all can see the light:
Love shines through worldly cracks.
They look down on the poor and shrug,
“but they are poor by choice”,
while their own inner famine tugged
away behind their voice.
Is the blue sky a different sky
in the place where you live?
Is the full moon a different moon
that does not moonlight give?
Is your sun not a yellow sun
that shines equal on all?
And are you trees not green and spun
by leaves and growing tall?
Did your eyes not well up with tears
when you were once a child
and fell and bruised your knee, or fears
gripped your mind in the wild?
Have your own lips not smiled as well
when you were comforted
and have you not waved pasts farewell –
by memories transported ?
Have you not too one time survived
anchor-less stormy nights
and prayed, or simply stayed alive
for tiny shreds of light?
Have you not dragged yourself to lay
so tired that you felt
unsure if you’d wake up next day
to feel your hurting melt?
Is your life not a life as mine –
though different in form?
Is this life not a sun ashine
to live and guard from harm?
This life, that life; Who cuts a line
between my heart and yours?
Is your heart not a heart as mine?
Are my years not as yours?
I too have wept and smiled and kept
the light on in my chest.
I too have died and lived and slept
and longed for home and rest.
They’d say, “some lives are more, some less”,
but that is but a fable,
there are no borders past the eyes:
Life is undividable.
My hand is yours—we’re not apart
—when I am helping you;
The love that stirs within your heart
stirs there within me too.
I laugh with you and feel your soul,
come cry my tears, I’ll mend
your aches in my heart (of your gold)
my fellow world and friend. ♡
© Poem by me 💌
The awe-inspiring painting, “Earth”, is by Vishal Gurjar 🎨