Handwritten

Momentous

A lot of times she found herself
Lost in the buzz of crowds.
A part of a pack,
And yet somehow apart.

She tried though to engage
In ways more than one,
To establish something close to
A meaningful association.

Through traditional method of dialogue,
Did she attempt to reach herself out.
But the words that flowed from her
Were slow to reach the ears around.

And yet when they did oh so rarely,
Their meanings lagged behind.
Like screaming at her top voice
But everyone seems to be deaf and blind.

Except it was easier for her,
To feed herself with lies.
To believe herself invisible and dumb,
Rather than the world to be otherwise.

And so did she withdraw and shrunk
From the life that was outside,
To make herself as small
As she actually felt inside.

Insignificant and devoid of any meaning,
Her existence worthless she deemed.
For wasn't her life futile with lack of
Affection and regard by her fellow beings.

With these thoughts still on her mind
Did she board her usual 1:25 train,
And lucky to gain the window on her right
Which she leaned on to rest her gaze,

On the shifting landscapes of such variety
Of slums , buildings ,trees and a lake.

But what caught her distracted eyes
Were the flowers of such violet bright,
A peek from the traps on railway tracks,
Struggling to grasp a few rays of light.

Tiny, fragile and hidden in those rails
She doubted they captured many stares.
That not many must have noticed,
Let alone admire their existence.

And yet those beauties swayed in rhythm,
To the music the winds brought.
And basked in that happy sunshine,
As if to say they care not.

A moment of illumination struck her,
That each life has a universe of its own,
And momentous is it's existence,
No matter how many worlds have them known.