I am

I am a poem, a dusky sketch on a long forgotten leaf. I am that bringer of gifts and luck, that strength that eggs you on, I am that cripple you saw two weeks ago.

I have a life of my own, many things that I need to do. I consider gathering flowers for long forgotten tombs of friends. The same fingers also collect presents for brides to be, wish the best for brothers who turned their backs, flinch just a little with every hardship that comes crashing on my head.

My back is hunched, I can no longer be of use the way I used to. Although my spirit still sings praises of life, all its beauty, and the one above. I may not look like I have been upto any good, infact I may even look like I am not feeling so very good. Oh but I did reach out a hug every tired soul who walked past my door step.

You come to me telling me of all your sorrows, of all your hardships. And yet when I speak of mine, you either walk away or do not listen. My little misfortunes seem not to matter to anyone, and now I’m afraid I do not seem to take seem to take them in either.

I am the fading sunset, I am the water at the edge of the river, I am everything I’ve ever wanted to be, I am the end of the road, I am so very tired.