Is It Too Late?

It was a bellowing cry that I heard,
One that reeked of desperation.
But how could I ignore such a gut-wrenching cry?
So I followed it through the crowds.

Hordes of commoners passed by,
Shuffling through the huge metropolitan streets.
But none of them seemed to hear that cry,
Their eyes full of apathy that I utterly despised.

I caught a glimpse of a child,
The source of all that noise.
His eyes were swollen and drained,
They spoke of an everlasting pain.

I approached him cautiously,
Trying not to make matters worse.
But as I got closer and closer,
The pain did not seem to cease.

His features were oddly familiar,
Reminiscent of who I once was,
With ashen hair and blue eyes,
And a broken watch from my childhood days.

“Are you okay, love?”, I asked softly,
But my words fell on deaf ears.
As if I don’t exist,
As if I never did.
I raised my voice thinking perhaps he couldn’t hear,
But his cries grow louder too.
Perhaps, I was invisible to him
The same way he was to them.

“Why?”, his voice broke,
“Why can all of you not see me?”,
He craved mere crumbs, nothing more
But even they seemed out of reach.

I touched his head gently,
Caressing every unloved strand of hair
Embracing him strongly and deeply,
Hoping that I haven’t come too late,
Praying to all the gods I never believed in,
That it will be okay.
That he will be okay.

That I will be okay.

Aryan Raj Dhawan