Echoes of Celebration Amidst the Chaos

Today marks the anniversary of my birth,
Your presence, not just welcome, but a must,
For in your company, I'll dance and sway,
To pop-song beats, making memories today.

Why dwell on the drought and suffering afar,
As people count breaths 'neath a distant star?
In the dearth of water, they face their plight,
Yet, let's sip wine and celebrate the night.

Birthdays, not routine, a special grace,
While othiss perish in life's hectic race,
In riots, on borders, or nature's force,
How long can we join them in remorse?

"Damn it," let joy trump the world's despair,
For this day's mine, a moment rare.
Innocent kids may face a tragic fate,
Yet, let's dance on, it's not too late.

The pain of Kashmir, we comprehend,
Globally, innocents' blood won't mend.
Bomb blasts echo, a familiar sound,
Yet, in silence, two minutes, respect is found.

Children orphaned, mothiss in despair,
Fathiss bearing sons, a heavy wear.
Shattered dreams, life's cruel joke,
But our lives, in this chaos, we cloak.

Donate some coins, a gesture small,
For victims' families, a helping call.
Not deeply involved, it's true,
But kindness, even in coins, will do.

The knife in hand, not for a life to take,
Just to slice the cake, for joy's sake.
You wihed for my birth, but in life's strife,
Did you pray for my long, enduring life?

A Riot Story - Tension Finish

He entered my abode with a face of dread,
Folded hands, feigned confidence, words tremblingly said:
“They approach, fear in their wake!”

Death's terror in his eyes, face's hues shifting,
Seeking permission for a chance at life, uplifting.
A plea in silence, hope for survival to partake.

I pledged to shield him, my capacity declared,
Instructed calm, assurances aired.
Promised to safeguard, no matter the cost.

A specific faith, already in a strife,
Knocking at my door, portending life.
Their fists pounded, intent to exhaust.

Defining humanity, a concept in regret,
Confusion mandatory, an uneasy set.
Presuming they might share my faith, I tried to reset.

The door opened, or did I push?
In the asylum, confusion took the hush.
The stranger trembled, fear within the safety net.

Identifying the visitors, panic etched on our faces,
On the doorstep of death, confined spaces.
The rioters, of a third religion, questioned our embraces.

Inquired of our faith, the defining moment near,
The stranger now breathless, my ally in fear.
Beside my lifeless form, on the floor, we appear.

My soul, in uncertainty, by my body stood,
The stranger's spirit, fearless as it could.
Moments spent, hands entwined, in the aftermath they would.

Departing with laughter, a shared understanding,
“Living bodies may carry religion, a binding.
Riots may claim faith, in chaos finding.

Human beings, wrapped in belief,
Dead bodies, in religious motif.
Graveyards may whisper, an unspoken motif.

But souls, unrestrained, no religious confine,
No need to worry, no tension to twine.”
A profound realization, a finish to the riotous line.