No obligations to care

It’s a story of a soul.

This soul didn’t know it’s goal,

It was searching within a hole

Hole of gives and takes

Hole of profit and loss

Counts, countdowns, races

Yet somewhere buried within

This soul- a buzzard concepts of whole,

Had seen care where it was free,

Pure and priceless,

Stupid, she was told,

Breath, flowers, water – all is sold

You can weigh your gives in gold

We can bind your gifts in tinfoils

And present to the world

An alloy of obligation to care bind in gold

Acquire it for your growth spurt and give it up for storage of soul

What can you give for pure love?

How much for god?

Pray this place still have some fools left

And we still can’t fill our hearts with gold

We still can’t mourn with silver

We still can’t buy divine,

Or mothers will start charging for nurture

Fathers will start charging for protection

There are ways to charge one

For their creation, sustenance and destruction,

So now, how much should I charge for the poem ??

– Rupika Moitra

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