Little raindrops on finger tips, dew drops on the edges of leaves,
Somehow feel much lighter than the tears you wipe with your sleeves.

Young school bags filled with crayons, black shoes tied with laces,
Stark comparison to the overflowing bag and the unwashed smile with braces.

Long queue at the airport, haggling with the baggage scale,
Frisking of lighter bags, faces both bright and pale.

Standing at the counter, identification asked,
Blank stares, pleading look as if begging for the question to be passed.

I lost my identity the day my soul left me the eyes seem to say,
For others it was just another mad woman standing in their way!

Request for baggage weighing, enquiries about excess bags,
Pat came the reply ‘yes yes I have – where can I shed the tag?’

Guiding towards a special counter, women in impeccable attire,
“So this is where I can shed the excess baggage and can retire?”

“Oh no. You got us wrong!”, there is a small exclaim,
Here is where you pay the price, for all the excess baggage to your blame!

And then?

And then you walk around with the same weight as ever before,
With shoulders drooping, body aching, and the eyes still too sore.

But yes, the mind at peace, for now no one can question that pile,
But just a request as you trudge along could you please sport a smile?

A hurt look, eyes full of dismay, an old truth newly found,
It  still remains a fact that no body likes a sad person around!

Checked in. Boarded. Luggage tucked in safe.
Some excess baggage are never shed and follow you to your grave.

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