Gratitude

 

How lucky I’m

even to stand amid my supposed

heap of miseries—on land,

It’s a treasure because tight now

someone is drowning—in water;

looking for a toehold

of land—dear earth,

It would be his treasure

just to stand on a garbage dump.

 

I might find this day drab and boring,

while someone would give all his wealth

to get another drab-most, boring-most day

—just a day.

 

How lucky I’m to live, breathe,

see, walk, touch, taste, feel,

while so many lose

their privilege to even these.

 

How lucky to have a home,

while so many go hunting

for a filthy corner

and put a plank, board, metal sheet,

lie under it

and call it home.

 

The clothes I wear,

the food I eat,

the people who love, care and smile at me;

even those who hate me

because they know me at least,

There are scores of those

who don’t have any of these.

 

I’m rich and lucky in being alive,

I hold a treasure,

What makes me see it?

It’s just ‘plain old’ gratitude,

The moment I lose it,

I lose everything,

Then I’m just a cribbing,

miserable, poor, suffering victim.

 

So my gratitude is my key

to the infinite luxury

and treasure I hold.