Nothing

We’re nothing in front of
Divine ladies who often get
Mistaken for sluts
Their genuineness becomes
Too much
Or, perhaps, their smiles
May be too ‘lovely’ and ‘sweet’
For toxic men to handle

We’re nothing in front of
A beggar’s child
A saint-to-be
A collapsed house
A white man’s dream

And we become nothing
If one looks at the mirror
for half an hour
If one stops to see a tree
Without a stupid thought in mind
We’re nothing in front of
The reflections looking back

Though we strive hard
To be something to show the world
It’s still by the world’s standards
Everyone other than me
Has the same sorrow, more or less
It is still a dark, dark night
Nothing  to be seen inside