A self reflection on a marble floor. Distorted echo off a mud wall. Here I am but I don’t like it here.Here, I reside in a poverty themed atmosphere. Last night I walked into a cross road. In one path, caskets full of Gold that clatter. In the other, honey lake, hill of freshly baked croissants and tonnes, of a rich man’s butter. I realised that the latter was what I really needed but then I decided to choose what I wished for. On the contrary, you can’t eat Gold now can you?

I chose what I chose, not for me, rather for my people waiting back at home for they too would have picked the same despite the shame of hunger and thirst, they would have chosen glisen first, they would be ashamed if I chose not the Gold because that’s what matters in the Twenty First. However,I still wouldn’t beat the resentment starting to building inside of me when I realised that I had a chance to be bread winner literally,for once but I failed. So in that case, I guess it’s another night journey of belly grumbling and bile burning let’s see what happens when the Birds chirp.

My dreams project an unending marathon race of I chasing dusty skeleton shadows to which when I come close enough to grab and pin down, vanish like lost wishes! I dont relent on the mission and it is unfortunate that I couldn’t even glance at the brim filled water bottles stretched at my side on multiple checkpoints. My bare feet bleed to exhaustion and my throat slits open to thirst. Laying down defeated on the track lines, a single tear irrigates my rough cheeks and not even my tear wells have mercy to spare my body the only ounce of water left in me.

So many odds to beat. So much to be done, to sit. As the man of the household, I have failed my children. My first born son always tells me how he looks upto me. At this point I wish he wasn’t my seed! He deserves a warrior not a worried man. My last born daughter is an angel. So beautiful that sometimes I doubt the birth certificate credit. She is nothing like her Father. Her innocence can’t match my demons all I can afford dear, is a ribbon for your head. Hold on to it and hope, somehow a miracle falls onto me when it’s all done and said…


      1. Ahh I see, I’ve found it courteous to attribute credit to borrowed items to their creator to avoid confusion, at best and being accused of infringement at worst


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