Cost Of Comfort

Wrote this as a witness to what's happening around the world.

With open minds,                                 

pages write.                              

In dimmed-out lights, 

eyes lose sight.

Whom to ask?

Whom to listen? 

Is the unanswered question,

of a generation.

We take to streets, 

when we feel wronged.

Where were we, 

when it was someone else’s turn?

If it’s easy to say 

and tougher to act.

Why have we crossed our hands 

And refuse to react.

To stay in this comfort zone,

that’s shown to us.

The surface level makeup of everyday life, 

a lie made up,

to make it seem like everything’s alright.

9-5 and a healthy pay 

is all we want to enjoy 

and pass away.

 

Why is it not our fight, 

if we’re all under the same sky?

Everything’s fine, 

till it’s not us who cry.

And the hypocrisy of it all, 

is that we’ll sit still 

when the problem is not with us.

But preach the world on the unfairness of it all. 

Because, of course, 

there are always better things to focus on, 

No matter the chaos of the world.

What can a small voice, 

in a crowd of billions do? 

Conditioned to let the world burn,

till it’s not their concern.

Is it democracy that’s dead, or the human in us?

Where we light the fire 

and blame the people above. 

While they’ll let us burn and turn to dust.

Since a few hundred people,

mean nothing to us.

But we’ll sit still with our hands crossed, 

as it costs us nothing more, 

than our mere morality.

Author's Note

This poem is not a personal jab at anyone, I wrote this out of helplessness not out of spite.