I sit and watch
the dirt underneath my fingernails.
Meanwhile, your fingernails are pink and white,
spotless.
The sidewalk has potholes and you skip around
in your heels, treading over them.
The water that collects in those potholes,
I drink it.
Your hair flows down your back, so shiny;
mine is matted to my forehead.
You enter the hotel where I reside,
or rather, near which I reside,
and I know, one day,
they’ll make me move.
I sit and watch with trembling fingers,
trembling teeth and trembling bones;
you have a big coat on and you enter the resort
where my son works as a cleaner.
He cleans your spas and jacuzzis,
still not earning enough to buy a heater for his mother.
You relish your hot water pool tonight,
and we search for some more firewood.
I sit and watch you
stopping to put something in my bowl.
I sit and watch you
telling me to go away.
All of you blur into one for me;
you or another one of you,
it doesn't really matter,
just like all of us blur into one for you.
I am right there,
in those crevices you overlook,
in those dishes you throw away,
in those clothes you never wear,
in that pessimism you indulge in,
because you know it will end, all within an hour.
We don't have that luxury, you see,
our pessimism is eternal.
I am right there.
You say that it is your work and toil
that put you there and me here.
But look at me, please.
The world gives you chances,
to do better,
to let you go up, higher than ever.
But its eyes skip over me,
and I always remain right there,
where the world left me behind.
By-
Priyambada Kashyap
B.A.(H) Psychology
Semester 5
[Art Curated by Mehak Aggarwal & Anshika Srivastava
Edited by Shreya Jathavedan & Mehak Aggarwal]
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