The sandwich

For the world you were simply a sandwich,

Two pieces of breads with veg or meat in between,
But I saw in you what the world hasn't see. 
The world told your bread was so unattractive and a bore.
I say, the bread lived for a purpose, to hold the juice fresh core. 
The world said your core was not that great,
I say, I know you better, you were au fait,
The world said you were just a meal,
I say you were a package of many unique things, which's a big deal.
You were not an accident or someone's mistake,
You were made by a creator, you were a choice, a specific design, a specific taste.
Handpicked was every part, and with much love assembled like art,
Wrapped with much much care in a foil so that you were warm, unharmed and unspoiled. Your journey began in my kitchens womb, 
And you travelled a whole 12 kms in my vroom
And finally you landed on my plate. 
And I ate you without delay or late
You died without resisting so that I could live,
And for you to my God thanks I give.

By the one who killed it
Written by a friend

The traveller

Having travelled across several miles
What is it that I am trying to find?

Is it passion within myself
Or a passionate affair with the world
Is it searching for the self within
Or losing the self in the crowd

Away from home, escaping forever
I find comfort among strangers
A new day, a new act
The same old me is wearing a different hat

I return with a new story, newer memories
Another place struck off from my list
But what of the search, what did I find?
Having travelled across several miles
I question myself one more time

News

What if there are no blasts
what if there are no fights
what if there are no murders
what would be your news in the day

What if the only news
are natural disasters
and theater and art
would people still read the papers
if there is nothing bad
by people, by race, by cultures?

It is a sadistic industry
getting happiness out of other people's misery
why can't there be good beside the bad
Does everyone only empathise, when the rantings are sad?