Waiting for the sound of  your footsteps

I lie down to welcome you

But you have been deafened by the noise your soles make

And I was born mute

So I get trampled underneath the weight that crushes me

I get walked over when I wish i had feet

Even a reusable rag doesn’t get thrown

And I’m still not your own

I am not a rolling stone

I gather all the dirt, all the moss

Sometimes my only fantasy is the sound of explosion

I compete with a tinderbox, but sadly I win on each occasion

I am conspicuous only when I’m absent

That’s when I get your butterfly-span attention

Cleanliness is Godliness, did you say?

All the toxins make way in my bosom, have you noticed? I wonder today

I survive, an insult personified in some of you

But some of you had better not know

My light soul gets heavy with the burden of short stories of crises

While I hide your minute vices

So I wait for the D-day

When I’ll be absolved from this decay..

 

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