Carry on

I have spent a better past of my morning viewing news of unrest in my home-town. The pictures beam the sad plight of the common man and I find it disturbing. I can blame politicians for the grim situation and join the protest brigade; but to lend  solidarity to the cause  I am encouraged by friends to fight the battle on a different plane. 

The lights are down, yet shadows loom large.

The town looks deserted, but there are eyes prying, behind every window.

They have been shaken and stirred, pushed around and hurt,

and we have been mutely counting

the twenty and more years that have washed away.

I was there then, so were you,  we were young and there was hope,

but our destinies made us leave our homes.

We look back now and wonder  if things were better before than now.

Yet, our home is still there, where we have left our hearts;

only that this morning we have other windows to look through.

We seek the deserted streets and the hurt hearts,

and we wonder why the protests are not enough to bring a change.

Somehow, my breakfast this morning did not taste as good,

it was a little salty with the drop of my solitary tear;

for I have been counting again and its been eight days now;

I am told the old man who lives by the brook 

and breaks stones for a living, has gone hungry again.

I ponder, as my friends gather for their silent prayers,

and pass on the baton to me for my turn.

I realize that the battle is fought on two planes,

And while in the natural world they shout their slogans,

and shut their doors, 

my war is fought on my knees!

And , I intend to carry on!