Some days are just grey,
try,yet they dont change colour,
and every incident is painted
in its gloomy valour.
They play you symphony,
of what the eyes refuse to see,
unloved and fallen youth,
unheard and appalling truth.
Today as I stood in the rain,
besides his body cold,
I could sense my conscience whisper
to take into my hands,
his old limbs,
his old weakness,
his old meekness.
Yet I watched safely within a passing crowd
afraid to touch and save,
his life that Lord gave.
Then I walked away..
knowingly I let him die.
Yet still I take a lesson with me,
another would not have let this be,
I am less than ordinary,
Its pitiful survival,yet I do...
I know I am no angel,but pray
Who are You?
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