Once when I was young, I grew sunflowers on my neck and dragged sunset above my collar bones, to levitate peace in my orchard where chaos laid barefoot on white pebbles and black stones.
I saw more light raising in bottle of wine and howls etched upon grass blades, I've succumbed thousands of screams in my head but silence walked out of my throat each time truth negotiated.
When I was young, I labelled heartbreaks as poetries and scars as belligerent hope, but as creases endowed my skin I felt life is more about survival and existence, like blooming dahlias, which cry and shout yet smile till in fences it is choked. ~Purva
Things I get when I put the apron on brickbats and bruises for doing my all, a kick in the gut and slap to my face accolades of abuses yet an expectation of grace. I am put on a pedestal but also used as a floor rag they bang thalis one day & then put a target on my back. Sometimes called divine, trembling hands asking me to try the other times I'm a swine, Thrashed like I'm in a pigsty. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles from long nights asking for forgiveness though I did no crimes Things I get when I put the apron on punishments for the tragedies that I did not cause.
Perpetuating hatred-- It's happening every day, While many who contribute Would be the first to say, "Don't call me a bigot. I'm broadminded as can be. It's just that I don't believe In a mixed society."
So deeply has this poison spread. The roots have long been buried. Still, in a small child's fertile mind Some seeds will still be carried. If they have heard somebody Speak out with great contempt About a colour or a race, Then hatred will ferment.
It later will flourish If no one interferes. Racial slurs and epitaphs Will frequently appear. There is an old Indian quotation, One that clearly speaks. "Don't judge a person 'til you have walked In his moccasins many weeks."
There is no person living today Who wouldn't somewhere be an outcast. If everyone would just remember that, We might have peace at last.