Glasshouses and Footpaths

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The thought of being inside a glasshouse is shattering, literally. What if the house falls apart with the impact of a single pebble? What is it about luxury that we crave for? Does being inside a palace make life beyond our lifestyle more beautiful? Does life come running behind us with a perennial insurance policy with no expiry date? Outside the palace reside many homeless starving beings either freezing to death in the cold or getting charred, clad in the blanket of nothing else but heat or feeling their tears falling down their sallow face on a rainy day. 

They are also human beings who do not dare to imagine of a life of luxury, but rather pray that their family survives for a day more on the cost of his or her life. A human being can sustain and survive by giving their best efforts even if there are a few breaths to be asked in return of hard work and determination. It is true that one might not have been born with a silver spoon in the mouth . But, the question arises that if one has toiled day and night to deserve a palace then why does disparity sneak up behind the robes of the rich and famous to parade in the streets of the poor? Is it wrong to expect a spoonful of understanding from the rich to feed the poor who lie in a slot where once the rich snob was? 

Jargon would not sweep away the irony as ironic autumn leaves fallen on a poor man's footpath fly in through the window of the rich. But, this is merely an expression of a conflict within me that rages like a weak storm that destroys what is within me and not the injustice outside.