Peace

For what is peace?

Is it the moment you pay off your lease?

Or is it the comfort in the embrace

of a loved one, after working hard for days?

Is it the hearty meal you enjoy,

or the first sip of water that you have to calm your inner turmoil?

Is peace even found in mere moments,

or is it only achieved through our quests for atonement?

Does peace represent a milestone to be achieved,

or is it another add-on to the list of 'wrongly perceived'?

Can peace be found while looking for peace?

Is it a whole from which one can only get a single piece?

Does it lie in the sense of understanding oneself,

or in going ahead to become one with Himself?

Does it come to you easily,

or do you have to fight for it greedily?

Is it something you carry around in your pocket,

or are you unsure of whether you've found it yet to fit your socket?

~Khyati

Inspiration: Srishti Sinha

Start Afresh?

Does the dying earth not speak to you,

saying that we all need to start anew?

Does the unfairness sit well with you?

Does it not seem to slowly choke you?

Are you waiting for it to directly affect you?

Would the cries for justice only then appeal to you?

Don't you see how they use

the resources of all, like a noose

around all our necks, now blue

with marks of battles to ensue?

Battles not with each other, but within you.

How else will we ever be able to start anew?

For millions of mindsets need to change,

before we end up all deranged.

So, would you still wait around for the gears to somehow mesh?

Or would you consider it the right time to start afresh?

~Khyati

You and I

The following is an ode to the ones who suffer from racism or any other form of discrimination based on skin colour.

You and I are not the same,

you do not need to claim

that you won't steal every time you're out shopping,

or that you're not a spy, eavesdropping.

You're not looked at with suspicion,

and stared at like an exhibition.

You do not possess the cursed colour,

no one doubts you being a scholar.

Your marriage is not at stake,

as claimed by the aunties sitting by the lake.

You aren't called a child of maids,

every time you make those damned braids.

In a crowd, you don't feel alone,

like a clown in a circus being shown.

You and I are very different.

For those like me, it is apparent.

But you don't even see it sometimes,

how this treatment of us has become a crime!

It isn't just skin-deep anymore,

it messes with my peace and shakes my very core.

Yet you carry on unknowingly,

re-opening wounds on me stoically.

You and I will never be the same.

You will never have to write to ward off the daily blames.

~Khyati