Am I human? Often in others,solace I find. Especially when their sufferings, Seem larger than mine. I know, it is a selfish thought, But I live for myself, More often than not. Even if I do give charity, Its becasue it makes me feel happy. That sense of satisfaction inside, Derived from mitigating suffering outside. Sometimes I feel I own, A heart made of stone. I can eat and sleep at peace, unperturbed by others miseries. Am I human? I often wonder, A 'living corpse', fits the description better. Hundreds I watch, rot and die, Everyday in front of my eyes. No lump chokes my throat, No beat skips my heart. No fear grips my mind, No chill runs down my spine. My blood does not boil, My feet do not move, All I can do, is just Sit and watch and sometimes brood. But my job is not, To save the world. I cant stop the fightings, nor the killings. I seem to have...