All of my heroes died in vain
for me.
I'm not up to their remarks.
Perhaps that's why we have heroes.
Some believe in gold
and find it deep while they
toil the field.
But for the ones
who don't wish for the gold
or are too devastated
by the devastation
their destiny is to die
in and by devastation.
For the majority of us devastated peasants
in the wide devastated field-
our destiny is to
lookup to our dead heroes and fail.
Miserably and devastatingly.

Under an old display of neon lights
two gilded exteriors meet.
Their gold needs to melt
and the lead core bared.
Wilde's prince's lead core didn't melt,
so won't their austere cores.
Their gold melted in the neon haze,
but didn't have the heart
to see their leaden heart
in the bright of the day.

I write to know.
I write to understand.
I write to solve
and I write to belong.

A myriad of people I see.
I lay my eyes upon their deep agony.
A father rejoins broken slippers for his pedestrian tyke.
A couple shops for clothes on the roadside.
A mother holds her daughter and subjected to a terrible cold.
The rickshaw puller shouts for them to move away.
He has his own place to be and children to transport.
They all have their destinations and
sights they need to see.
The clothing they need to wear
and lifestyles they wish to be.
It’s the life they got.
It’s not sure if they wanted it.
With the gaze of an outer observer
I see,
and be unable to read
their thoughts and dreams.
I long to know
the places they are in
and the places they want to be.

I feel like a bird in the wide, blue sky.
An eagle soaring in the wind,
a koel singing melody,
a crow tired by insults,
a dancing peacock insecure,
a penguin broke,
a parrot pretending,
a chicken distressed,
a vulture scavenging,
a mynah invading,
an owl leading,
an ostrich jealous
and an airplane disarming.

We wonder
who is a person
and who is not?
The answer is
can they love
or be loved
or not.