I walk, walk, walk

and i walk, walk, walk every day
down the streets of calloused smiles
stolen glances and exhausted eyes
a bright blue sky, a broken shed
a pile of clothes hanging off hooks
of hope and goodwill and care,

estranged dreams in glass bottles
in the crevices of brick walls
that have sat there silently
and are often glared
at by those who’ve gone home
to doors that seldom opened
to the outside world,

i walk even though my feet feel
like they’re too small to discover
everything that may not last
until i come across a parent Frog
guiding four of its babies on the
sidelines of the orange pavement
till one of them steps out of the way
tries to climb up the wall and falls
then continues to follow Parent Frog,

i walk, walk, walk on a cobble path
covered with mud and yellow flowers
and at night when the streets go dark
i like to forget that there are glass shards
i look up to where the street lights belong
it’s too dark to recognise any sound
my pace beckons my beating heart
to quietly become the darkness
till the darkness lasts,

did i only mention calloused eyes
for there exists more proof of a difficult life
in arched backs and walking sticks
of old age that is merely balancing on one feet
there are some feet that have been forced to bleed
by glass shards conveniently invisible to me
there is a softness in some young faces
as they watch me watching them
we’re both wondering the same.

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