I sit here wondering, thinking
What is it that we need to mend?
Wounds, gashes, broken bones?
What is it that we need to heal?
Hearts, people, their deep-rooted wounds?
I sit here wondering, thinking
It is the people or society
That needs sabing by us
I sit here wondering, thinking
Whether what we do will make a difference.
I take a walk around the room
Unable to completely concentrate
My eyes wander off to the side of the road
A beggar, kicked; scratches here wounds there
Whom should I stitch— the beggar or the kicker?
I decide to take a walk in the neighborhood
Mentally, making a list of people
A girl sitting on a park bench, crying
Maybe she's the one with a broken trust
And hearts are the hardest to stitch.
Come to think of it, it's easy to say
But breaking apart? You shouldn't know
A man being pushed around in the streets
A black is hard to be, when
You are surrounded by racists.
I see a girl walking alone; no one around
She keeps looking back, a little insecure
I look elsewhere, I'm no more than a passerby
Quickly she runs into a shop, afraid of me
I wonder was it something I did?
I wander into a lonely alley
Heaps and heaps of litter, a boy sitting, crying
On asking, he tells me, he was lonely
His family died; in a car accident
I think he's the one needing the most stitches.
Back on my armchair by the fireplace
I sip coffee and gaze at the fire
The secrets and demons inside us
Make us hollow; and just
Like a torn fabric, we'll be needing stitches.
