Crosses To Bear

By Jyotsna Venkatesh

I know everyone has crosses to bear, but how I envy those

Whose crosses are of balsa, so lightly do they carry it.

Some carry it as martyrs would, gaining sympathy

And with many a helping hand.

I think those are the ones, who were first in line

When luck was bestowed.

The cross finally becoming a blessing in disguise.

But to many, the cross is like the Atlas’ burden,

Cannot be shared, something

To be borne lifelong, without respite.

My cross is a living thorn bush, piercing flesh and bone,

Growing and growing, year after year,

So now, flesh and thorn are one.

The people I adore the most, carry their cross of faith,

Faith in life, faith in the goodness of people.

Life deals blow after blow, and yet they emerge,

Battered and bruised, triumphant,

Self- respect, dignity and hope intact.

These are my heroes,

These are the people I admire.

By Jyotsna Venkatesh