A Plea for Help

By Raina Bhatia

You think my heart doesn’t ache,

But it hurts, my love.

It sickens me,

Burning within for the broken, misplaced trust.

Heaviness in my soul,

I want to leave.

Wish that were an option.

Wish people were like leaves.

So that you could see when

They were at their best

But also see

When they were about to fizzle out

And lay,

To forever rest.

Green, yellow, orange, red.

With seasons, their colours changed

But saying the same for people, I digress

I don’t think people really change

Just their shell does

We are, what we are

For myself, I can say the same

I can’t really say

Whether I’m black, white or grey

Is it morally wrong,

That I do not wish to stay?

An ode to the wind

A tryst with destiny, as a famed man once said

This is my cry,

My plea,

A plea,

To be helped.

By Raina Bhatia