Why this bias

 

running
through the valleys, ravines,
and the gorges,
rolling over the stones and the logs,
the deep falls and the steep curves,
gasping for breath,
after the painful journey of a thousand miles,
as the river prepares for the final plunge
to merge with its love,
the sea doesn't choose who to embrace
and who not to

bracing
the hills and the hillocks,
the dunes and the jungles,
the pines and the oaks,
the tall skyscrapers and the tough alleys,
waiting for days, weeks, and months
for the spring,
as the breeze can't wait to merge with its love, 
the flower doesn't choose
which breeze to pick its pollens,
and which not to

battered
by the rains and the sun,
and chipped away by the biting winters,
bruised by the tiring walks and falls,
worn and torn by the sleepless nights,
when the pilgrim makes it to the temple,
god doesn't choose who to show up for,
and who not to

when the sea doesn't choose between rivers
when the flowers don't between the breezes,
when god doesn't between men,
when the moon doesn't between pastures,
why do you?
and how long, more?




© sashikant mohanty