Ziya's Blog

Faces in the train Faces to suffocate  Faces different they are  With colours, shapes n body types With gajras, jewelleries n sarees With pajama, kurtis, burkha or niqab,  With happiness, joy, stress n strain They have a buzzing energy Girls not women yet,  Women with children,  Women no longer having them,  Women of offices,  Women of services,  Women of houses,  All akin.  I look at tight skin I look at sagged busts I look at dreamy smiles I look at bored countenance I look at creased foreheads  I look at running laughter  I look at the many around me  And focus on one  The nearest possibly And farthest impossibly.  I look at myself,  And how count my face,  One in appearance  Many in reality.  I know  The world I see has one face each And then again, they have a million more,  Buried deep

 She held her child,  Covered in soot,  Her lips black and feet bruised Cooing in his ears,  He smiled in her embrace,  Showered by love,  In the beggar woman's motherly grace.  A broom in hand,  She sat on the train floor,  Smothering her child.  The world around her judged her clothes,  Her son's bare back,  His burning toes,  She faced the eyes,  She fought the words,   She forgot her state,  And with it all her fears.  Society is cruel,  She knew that fact,  And covered her child's Ears, Eyes and Head,  She did not care for the world As her world lay in her lap.