Are You There?

“Hello? … Are you there?”

We’ve all been there—
drifting into the abyss,
slipping out of place,
until reality claws us back,
kicking, screaming, unwilling.

And what a reality it is.

A world that hums,
a world that races,
people trapped inside their own little bubbles.
Obsessed with drama.
Drowning in demands.

Your voice bounces,
echoes,
lost in the hollow chamber of noise.
And you ask yourself—
“Does anyone even hear me?”

Meanwhile—
someone lies in a hospital bed.
Alone.

Mum.
Dad.
Nain.
Taid.
Aunty. Uncle.
Brother. Sister.

Too far to visit.
Too busy to call.
Are their families there for them?
The answer? … No.

And when a stranger collapses in front of you,
are you there?

When someone is dragged to the ground,
their voice cut short—
are you there?

No.

Most turn their faces away.
Most step over the fallen.
The vulnerable go unseen.
The sick unheard.
Life reduced to—
“Not my problem.”

Too many drift past,
blind to your presence.
So you ask again, softer this time,
a whisper into the silence:

“Hello? … Are you there?”

And the truth comes back,
hard as stone,
cold as silence:

Too many are not.