Peace

Poem by Vanshika Srivastava

Sorry, my kin, 
My pocket is full of dimes 
Your bag of felicity had a stitch loose 
Since the very first time. 

The ray of hope can be blinding, 
And now the knock is heard at my door 
My hands tied behind, my plea refused 
That my pocket is just full of dimes 

And the hand that holds the gold 
is the hand that surfaces through 
amidst the crowd of the do’s and don’ts. 
With glee they measure their generosity 
With ease they gleam with their papercut smiles 

And henceforth I ran as far as I could, 
For as long as the hours prolonged, 
The sunset up by the bay 
Seemingly tarnished me with its golden ray 
And slowly I simmer down to a hasty stop. 
With a new thumping start, peace wrapped around me 
Like an old friend’s arms, 
Like the cup of coffee I have everyday 
yet still yearn for.