We're Not Very Different

I walk in the corridors, my head bent low, buried beneath my worldly burdens.
Either it's a test or a fight with a friend, either it's the yearning for more pocket money or the secret wish to be able to fly.
There's somebody in those very corridors. She's neither a student nor a teacher. Yet, she visits my school everyday. Her worries do not revolve around what to study or what to wear. She worries whether her children will have food to eat when they go to sleep at night.

We are not very different, she and I. 

She breathes the same air I breathe,

walks the same earth I walk on,

sees the same red that I see,

she has worries; well so do I,

she's a daughter, a friend and a console-er; well so am I.

She puts the broom away, she takes a sigh. All the messy classrooms seem polished.
I notice the sadness in her eyes and realise that taking time out for her won't turn my world upside down.

And yet, as I stand with her, listening to her as she motivates me to stay strong.
She's determined. She cries, I cry too. We weep over the blindness of this world.

And, as I turn to go away,

there's just one thought that seems to stay.

I catch her eye,

'Why are we considered so different, You and I?'

You're called poor, I'm called rich and yet we're the same as time flies by.

She did turn my world upside down in ways she would never know.