Most of the time
Most of the things work here in America
Unlike my beloved birth country
Where break down or non-existence was a norm
Still it is, to a large extent.

After a long days work
I sit down and get a glimpse
Of the world out there
The real one as projected on my TV
Where poverty and misery
Run rampant
Where drinkable water and
Breathable air are luxuries for a few
Childhood diseases and malnutrition rule
No opportunity
Or lack of everything
For a girl child or a woman
Spells life
Or its sustenance.

There in the distant land
With not even a dirt road
But with a dried up river
Children still dream of becoming some one
A doctor, a robotic engineer
A rapper or an artist
To be providers for their parents
In their old age

Here
Old parents tucked away
In nursing home
Our children busy with their own children
We look for something to fill our days
From stock market to spirituality
From celebrity gossip
To travel in cruise ship to distant shores
To get snapshots of our kind
Living loving suffering
In their own islands.
…
June 2, 2016