the full-throated cry of the sky
pierces the calm of a spring day
besotted with its capacity to go on.
the shrieks of the crows speak of the agony
of the air, that is carbon, ash, cacophony,
& unanswerable specks of dust and dirt.
why do we forget to be kind to what
we inhale? why do we forget to be kind
to what is ever-present?
the city gleams and glides through the complicity
of its pupils, as kindness is thwarted by the need
for immediate reach and control.
why is it the most difficult to be kind
to our own selves? why is it so difficult
to salvage all the broken pieces?
hold your own hand, next time you escape
to figure out the path of reconciliation
with your point of origin —
your nature is to breathe and fly,
and turn through the pages of life,
to find your own love, deep within.
© Anmol Arora
A rather different tone and mood for this one, when compared to my other recent verses.
Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Kindness