Today I’ll tell you a story
A story of desperation
But also one of dissent.
Of a world that has refused to change
Of a world that resembles the past
In not how a mole on a wrinkled face
Speaks of a beauty it once held
In not how the mirror reflects sometimes
Flashes of a person that once stood
In front of her.
This world of the gardens
Has refused to join time in its course
And is much like
A person
Listening to a melody on loop
With eyes closed
Only to open them
To find
That the world around
Has moved on
Days, years, even decades have passed by.
Traversing the rays of a sun
That doesn’t
Belong to an October sky
I reach
A spread of blissful green
Where a calm
Slowly walks its way
Through my eyes
Into my heart
I think I could get used to it
Would I like it, I think not.
The peace here
Does not deny difficulty
I am smart enough to know that
In fact
The quietness comes from
Bearing what is
Gruesome.
I see women
Pick leaves and walk plots
Carrying
Half of their own weight
On shoulders
Frail
Humming a tune
Of a life
That isn’t quite like what they sing
Of now.
Their memories of places and people
Belongs to a time
That has bid them goodbye
Light years ago.
I walk
Into a structure
That holds
A carcass
Of what was once
A coveted vocation
To find workers
Toiling for nine revolutions
Of the minute hand
To get paid
A hundred and forty five.
We see leaves being withered
But what we don’t
Is how the leaves
Tell a story
Of the lives
In this factory.
Seasons change
But every day
Looks the same
For people
In here
Grinding themselves
To serve us our everyday brew
A brew that will
Start a conversation somewhere
While someplace else
It will shatter the walls of one’s loneliness.
Some people will find magic
In its fragrance
While others will speak of the solace
In its taste
But none will speak about
The lives that wilt away
To let us have some tea
Sipping on which we talk about
Happier things.
Featured image source: Riya Roy