THOSE UNKNOWN
THOSE UNKNOWN
What happened to those
who shed many a tear
and bled for others?
They died hungry
lamenting their last years.
I know those unknown
and I know how much of pain
endured they, unbeknown.
How unkind is this world?
How ungrateful are the people?
I find no statues for them
at road junctions
and never found their names
embossed on tomes
in golden letters.
Should not we recall the names
of those felled trees
at least while eating their fruit’s
tasty pickle?
Knowing all why
good Samaritans prefer to wear
that crown of thorns.
Intuition-driven
why they try to walk the people
towards that unseen heaven?
Are they otherwise sheer simpletons or
desperados lacking reason?
One straying whim answered me:
“Each drop of water has no
separate name.
All together they’re called the rain,
a river or an ocean. They come and go
smiling, as one flood of altruism,
asking for no thanksgiving.”
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