Dont clicl me....

Clicking my pain, you are earning fame.
I am not earning fame, but asking all to have some shame.

You decorate me on the walls of the artistic galleries.
You come close and think deep, eyes get closer to weep.
I think you will surely come to help me sleep.
Eyes keep on changing but none really weep.

I tried coming and my eyes really wept.
But I am bounded by my fears & my comforts.
Because now I have forgotten that you and I are one.
So, how does it matter, if you are not my sister, friend or son?

But…
I am not asking you to become my father, just give me some protection.
I am not asking you to become my mother, just give me some care.
I am not asking you to become my brother, just give me some company.
I am not asking you for help, just give me some hope.

I click you, hoping that others if not I will come to you.
Because, I still hope that there are some humans around.
Don’t get me wrong, because I might not come to you but the path I am paving,
may lead many to you.

I am clicking life and I am writing life, as it is.
And by doing this, I am trying to do my bit.

(A conversation that took place at India Habitat Centre, New Delhi, between an orphan on the road, a photographer clicking his pain, a writer inking his vain and all of them were within me and you)