stories, Writings

Human-waste


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A man on the subway
Sunken cheeks, skinny bones,
White tufts of hair on his head
Blue, coming on grey, eyes
Carved roads on his forehead –
marks from all the times he’s reacted to something
Laughinkles next to his eyes
and I see
I see his stories playing before his eyes
a life lived
stories to be told
Veins in the color of the ocean run over his hands
as if each and everyone of them resembles a decision
I start talking to him
but he can’t hear me
he waves with his fragile hand over his ears
showing me he’s unable
It bothers me to the extent that I become teary-eyed
For here is another human with wisdom and stories that I won’t take part of,
nor will the world
How much human-waste is there in the world?
How many learnings and wisdom is buried with their owners?

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