WALKING FOR FOOD

Something remains untold.

Something remains unattainable.

Something remains hidden.

Something remains unexplored.

Something remains not addressed.

Something remains unsung.

Something remains untold,

This summer someone walks on beach,

And jumps in the sea wave,
Flood of sun rays on beach is not his food,
He has to cook some stuff to eat. 

He finds some unpleasant object in water.

His displeasure is not photographed with it,

His way is not like that of others,

No balcony is there to print his footsteps,

All his stories have chance not to be told.

Something remains unattainable.

This evening someone walks past

Roads, buildings, plazas, hospitals,

His strides stop somewhere on earth,

He cannot keep glaring in social sharing,

He has no wings to fly in Disney land.
He is not stardust to be regarded attainable,
He will get loose, and stay in one corner. 

Long after he goes vanished of sight,

His stories are shifted to unnoticed blur.

Something remains hidden.

When trees are planted on earth,

Someone is the pioneer to prepare

Ground for garden and harvesting,

Fruits and corns are sources of knowledge

Of living and social bondage,

The reaper creates dream,

One day field mice, worms, ants eat away

Everything those are reaped, then onlookers

Smile, even being beneficiaries, do watch

The fallout from hiding, lending no message

That they can judge, and honor rewards,

And try to hide the fact instead, and his

Presence in his world remains hidden,

The knowledge he explored becomes property

Of others who steal it in range of

Propriety, this trick is highlighted as origin.

Something remains not addressed.

Fomenting zeal bounds someone to attend

The long line panorama with all like him,

Their status are mentioned in the resolution,

And finally when work has got progress report,

Total address of him and his clan has not been found

In the right place, not even mentioned

As stakeholders, so phenomenal evidence ignored.

There are performing heroes, can’t utter the story,

They cannot tell their breakthrough in streets,  

Their names and work-styles are at the controls of 

And gone by the heady plights of superiors,

These heroes live in rogue surface sliding out

From protection, not paid up by values, and

They are treated as citric, not allowed to speak,

And forced to reside as manipulated stratum

Like dust under fabulous carpet maintained by people

Living upstairs, those who cannot be brought down

To hear voices of dust, but can walk on sand beach.

Stimulation progressed on soul bounding vehicle

Windows are not always open to nurture freedom.

Disorganized things melt in bad arguments, and

Power bullets mascara never says all are well. Size

Of population maneuvered on size of business

Table and dinner on it causes for trampled commons.