The Miracles In Our Hands

Gone are the days when Blissful Power wandered The world and people were blessed with miracles. The sufferings of the mankind now echo unheard, As hands of Humanity are tied with wicked sickles. Hunger of the Deprived, Clothing of the Destitute, Sleeping of Homeless may seem some alien words In some parts of world but elsewhere, these mute Words are realities, as stingy as strikes of swords. If this were a mythological world and everyone had Cornucopia, Horn of Plenty, then, it could nourish The needy with provisions of survival and their bad Days would have dissolved as if by a heavenly wish. But, here, in Real World, there is no horn of plenty To fulfill needs of the sufferers and God now bestows His bliss or curse neither directly nor through deity, But through mortal humans, with its highs and lows. The Lows of mankind are making this World worse, While the highs have kept hopes of humanity alive. No Cornucopia is needed if the Humans can force Their lows to fly and leave the cores of heart-hive. Revival of spiritual highs by lending helping hand To the suffering humanity is nothing but a miracle. Such miracles can turn this spiteful world into land Of Empathy, even better than the lands of Fairy tale.