No One was Outsider

Inserting love in the
heart of red stones. The iron door has
no heart. A mirror breaks in my eyes.

Truth was not right.
I bare my pen to spread the rare
blood from the eyes of the clay.

Hundreds of years remain
the same, though the script of stolen
heredity goes on changing.

When we believe that world is one family, no one is outsider. But our hearts are bound by time and space. Poet uses his pen to remind us of the oneness of this earth and earthly beings.  

Rajendra Singh Baisthakur , Nellore, AP, 524003