Brick walls, glass-houses and mirrors in the corridor,
Shades of blue and black reflections crawl on the mosaic floor.
Shadowed forms move across with faces painted with fear,
The glint in their eyes is not a shine but a tiny drop of tear.
Agony untold, retold, unsaid and reiterated, in their whispers,
They talk of equality that should be, that could have been.
Aloud they dream and silently express their clauses and inferences,
Of how the corridors should have been different than they are.
There is a magic that fear instills and that life responds to -
In a minor entertained fashion, as if it had a clue.
An answer maybe to the reasons, a question for the cause,
And the shadows move on with restlessness without a sense of pause.
Mirrors! Why mirrors? To see us reflect our own pains,
To watch our shame flow by in retrospect as we edge on,
To a greater good? To a finer sin? An unwanted introspection begins,
And murmurs line the corridors, with the shadows halted,
About the hungry children dying in the underbellies of the place.
Unkempt forms crawl up from behind the crowded lanes,
And shout aloud in frantic calls - the images in their brains.
There is a change that they demand, a change to change within,
They want the world – a better place? Is it a fatal sin?
And voices from the upper berths, the crust of all men,
Break across the fathomed crowd, a striking harsh truth,
There can be no better place that they could have it be,
And the mirrors on the wall shall remain, and reflect,
The shame that has been brought on the race of men,
There shall be no equality that would be known to them,
The hungry children shall keep dying and shadows must move on.