Someone died,

A woman, 

very old, 

very weak, 

emaciated, 

wasted, 

from cheeks to collar bones, 

to across the bosom, 

someone cried by the bedside

someone wept their eyes out

someone choked to the last words they had to say to her

someone screamed a sorry they had to say

someone fainted for she was born to her, 

someone chanted her name, was in love with her. 

All those screams could not be heard, 

I forgot someone died, 

and could only listen to the pain, 

of people left behind, 

I walked out and went to the corridors nearby, 

Red walls, narrow lanes, 

I walked it on and off, 

a 100 times,

trying not to listen to the echoes of people whining

And when all went calm, 

I sat down on the bench, 

held my head, 

and started telling myself, 

I did not hear her crying while she was dying, 

I did not even listen to her cream once, 

I did not see her weep her eyes out. 

Staying there for an hour or so, I thought to myself, 

None of them cried for her, 

they cried for themselves, 

none of them made dua to make it easy for her after death, 

or very few did, 

very few that we did not even hear them. 

And I realised, we do not listen to misery, 

We listen to mulishness disguised as misery, but never the real one. 

We are deaf to reality. 

Everytime. 

~Shafaq Shahid