Seldom Stay Afloat.
Suspend judgment, refrain from being a glutton, seek to be certain—
emerge in tandem: up-from a mist reeking of false consorts.
"No! I am not an Elephant!
I am not an animal!
I am a human being.
I am a man,"
A belief of this kind emerges unscathed, even from the toughest barred-walls.
Then subsequently, a thing or two border collapse—a plan perhaps.
A perspective shatters, still crawling towards some ‘final fest’—a final spark perhaps.
In hopes of being fabled in the same-old words, earlier looked over.
To win over a crowd, and turn in a cheque at once, at last.
Use of the second hand—a final spectacle, the canvas half-untouched, a face half-drawn. The skin much too warm, and dark—lead contaminate.
A river emerging to wash away what was, and wither away
what negligence was wrought—a half that was let to be;
with hours in hands, to hone a craft.
Then at once, all sternness, and vigour crumbles into mull;
what remains is a stall on the roadside, near some apartment complex—
a block away from a rural settlement, away from rolling bottles and trash.
I bought a broom last week, for the staircase that led to my stall.
I will clean the first step every day, for the next 10 years.
Adding the second for the decade after that,
and so for the ten steps there are.
An ambition, a belief that never subsides—
convoluting against the neck, for fear faced, for undirected fate, for an unlived life;
branching out of greatness, for ‘some’ mild success.
A land rises to pin the eyes of a millennia-long genocide.
A country ruling of newly-orphans, where reason reigns;
and above all the inkling to stray far, far away from faith:
which brought the collapse.
A day to look forward to, seeing the morning Sun, a new age.
Being the broom that rustles someone awake for once, in the apartments above.
In this act of a newfound commitment,
another day passes,