a better world

in this world,

doors are left wide open because trust is as common as furniture,

neighbours know each other’s names,

and the sound of each other’s pain.

a missed rent calls for a meeting in the common room,

sound of coins clinking symbolising support,

hands passing envelopes without shame.

 

 

 

in this world, we share skills like fruit.

you fix my leaking sink, i teach your child how to play the piano

the electrician learns gardening, the poet learns plumbing,

no one is embarrassed by what they do not know.

 

 

 

walks are scheduled for communal activity.

we walk so we don’t forget each other’s problems.

so, elders can tell the same story twice,

and no one rushes them.so children can walk ahead,

certain someone is always watching their back.

 

 

 

 

love here doesn’t expire, marriage is not a contract but a place,

a place where love lives

where hope is sheltered

where the fire of passion burns eternally

where arguments end before nightfall,

where beds are never cold from silence,

where divorce is a word that gathers dust,

like an old tool we no longer need.

 

 

 

bills aren’t private burdens.

they are community problems.

light never goes out in one house,

no one drowns alone,

because everyone knows the sound of water filling lungs.

this world smells like rain and cooked sunday rice.

it sounds like laughter through thin walls.

it moves slowly, deliberately,

as if time itself has chosen to be patient

and wait for us to always get it right.

 

 

this world exists,

i visit it often,

in my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

then i open my eyes.

 

 

 

doors are bolted.

neighbours share walls but not names.

we see suffering and pretend to look at our phones

skills are hoarded and monetised,

walks are lonely.

children go missing.

everyone is too busy surviving to remember.

children grow up online,

elders grow old unheard.

love becomes paperwork.

 

 

 

bed is a place to close your eyes

not where love is shared

divorce lawyers know us better than our friends.

bills come like threats.

everyone drowns quietly,

so, no one says how deep they are sinking.

 

 

we call this progress…

 

 

but somewhere between what is,

and what could have been,

my better world still breathes

for as long as it exists in my imagination,

i can surely give it life.