It’s an unfortunate fact of life
That you and I will always collide,
They say we ought to build a bridge
But neither of us are willing to do it.

There were, are, and will always be words
That we wish to say and need to hear,
But there, somewhere, along the line
They get lost in translation to time.

Oh they may say – more than empty platitudes
It’s actions that actually count,
But even if we behave for the other
The truth will not get buried under;

Aeons of animosity burn in our veins
As we aim with words that kill and maim,
And silently they utter the bitter truth
Carried as they are from blood to blood.

– Akanksha Gupta