The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.

The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third man sat in tattered clothes;
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.

The above was sent by Sonam with the following comments

Dear Naren,

Thank you for the forward ; the poem covers more or less the entire gamutof negative emotions we all harbour within ourselves - negative aspects that keep us stagnant. It reminds me of a story I read about about two brothers, in Pakistan , who inherited a cloth shop. Theyounger brother was so filled with all the negative emotions, as shown in the 'forward', that he refused all the sensible suggestions of how the shop should be divided amongst both of them. Finally in exasperation the elder brother asked him what would satisfy him. The younger one replied " Rip all the fabric bales right down the middle and both of us keep the halves". The poem should serve as a guard for all of us. Once again thank you.

affly

drukta