Within my Window

One of them still skips over
the road barely seeing
grime lining the gutter. 
Another throws a can
at a passerby. A group
of them shambles by,
some eyeing my clean
window. (They can’t see
my face.)

The children cry and laugh
in their march, through years
chosen by others–they lived
through centuries of hunger’s
panging.

But we’re allowed to finally go;
the driver takes us to the country
where we can fade within the lush
and ordinary.     

Inspired by Vidya Panicker’s 

View from the window of an air-conditioned car

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