Blindness

I was driving at sixty-five

Going for a picnic, with family;

Old Hindi songs,

Homemade sandwiches, drinks

Affectionate, caring words

Floating around

Dancing inside out

Laughing, giggling,

The air, so embracing.

 

I saw another family driving

The car I wanted to buy

Brushed past,

Anger painted my face

With sharp eyes, I was engaged in the race,

Hopping to hundred and twenty;

Leaving my family, happiness

Importing unwanted stress

Racing and racing.

 

Neighbors of the world

You are out on a picnic journey;

Songs, foods, warm words

Ignored on the way,

Thoughts to beat, compete, and overtake

Your comfort so rich, fleeting away

Putting innocent lives at stake

Chasing poor thoughts of agony

Driving and driving.

© supratik 2020
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no comments or critique sought.
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