Some of my poems are wordless
and do not make a human out of it.
I find it extremely difficult to feel like other humans
Perhaps I have only learnt to be like a human and not feel like one.
To feel the empathy is priceless and to feel your pain
my pen carries a heavy heart.
Your blue grief, I cannot let them turn black
into grey ashes and white oblivion.
A wooden heart is a theme for my work
Call my name
Speak to me
I will bear the burden of emptiness
If there is a little empathy left in me.
When there are news of accidents and when
ambulances rush in the crowded ways
When houses in the streets are burning
and I could only hear the fire truck’s siren and do nothing
May be there is an empathy left in me
But I could not help the beggars in the streets
except giving them few coins, fruits and paper notes.
When a dead bird is being buried in Auden’s poem
I think from my heart;
Where my poetic bird of empathy has landed?