Hope

After two days of hunger
the little boy on the street
put into his mouth
a half cooked morsel of rice;
and as I saw him devour
that spoon of stale rice
I knew what it felt like,
the taste of leftover hope,
hope instilled by the kindness
of a well-meaning heart.

As she walked down the aisle,
smiling beautifully in her gown,
I couldn’t help but notice
the faint glimmer
of gratitude and joy
that sparkled in her eyes,
and yet again I tasted
what leftover hope felt like
instilled by the courage
to brace herself and trust
despite the heartbreaks of the past.

And once again I saw
The taste of leftover hope
when I walked into his room
to see him wipe off tears
and embrace himself for more,
The leftover hope
that remained only in bits
but was strong enough to make
the huge yet tiny difference
between ending his life,
and giving it another chance.

The rainbow behind clouds,
The solitary light amidst pitch dark,
the anchor to the floating ship,
the lifejacket to the drowning,
Hope is all this and more
yet never seems to be noticed.
For if hope decided to flee
you’re left with nothing more
to hang onto and save yourself.

Be it in discarded chunks,
Leftover pieces,
Or thin delicate threads,
hold onto it;
cos the taste of leftover hope
is always sweeter,
than the bitterness it leaves
once it’s vanished.