This was the condition of my shoe when I for the first time trying to stand up on my own foot.


Profile of an old shoe.

Old, tattered and torn.
Full of wrinkles,
punctures and mundane.
Devoid of charm and luster.
Shunned by each
and all,
like curse.

Substituted by new
and energetic perfection.
And discarded the imperfection,
feeble and unable,
into a nook...
or in gutter.
As dethroned a king,
from disabled reign.

Nonetheless, it's new
and perfect,
To destitute and paupers,
Who darn punctures
and tatters,
into bizarre...
shapes and hues.

'And here I am once again,
to serve and muffle...
your wretched bare feet.'







Poetry by sonam bhote
Read 388 times
Written on 2007-02-08 at 07:58

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