The woman stood there,
swaying her baby, slowly,
never looking at it,
looking at others standing near her;
her other boy was sitting,
on the footpath that was used to set foot on,
above the kid was erected, a tiny shop,
it only sold poison: cigarettes and paan*;
the mother was still looking at others,
an expression more of worry than anger,
more of mercy than frustration,
she, with her child, were standing,
amidst grime, dirt and sewer water,
cars passed by, splashing on clothes of passer bys,
the cars were blaring at each other,
the silent mother stood confidant,
facing the world head on.
*Paan: Betel leaves combined with areca nuts. Carcinogenic. Used as a stimulant.
When the death comes to take you away,
ask it to give you a moments time,
to reflect on past, the times gone,
to smile and cry, in the moments of past.
Remember those hopes and dreams,
plans that you had in life,
things you wanted to get,
girls you wanted to lay,
the life that was unlived, unrealized,
that was when the death had come first.
Remember those family and friends,
they just paid you their respects,
to honour who you were, no matter how wrong you be,
those who stood by you, even when
you only thought they were pricks,
that was when the death had come second.
Remember those times wasted,
drinking or doing drugs, in the hopes
of doing away with troubles,
the death wanted you, the trouble,
to be taken away, but it always missed.
But it at least got the precious time,
that was when the death had come third.
Countless times it came, a thousand I say,
taking away everything worth living,
worth dying, or worth breathing,
left then was a harrowed self,
alone in this popoulous world,
ugly in this beautiful world,
the thousand and onth did come,
but that was the easiest one.
Separate names with a comma.