When words spoken
took the highways,
Ain’t the same
what walked in forests;
Wheels of fortune
not too similar either,
Of steps on burning desert with the zest.
Steps in boxes ne’er
had any shelf life,
On the streets vagabonds
ain’t thrive;
Steering wheels
carrying too miscues rain,
From what flows
from body that’s slain.
Bare sole or ostentatious
sole sans soul,
Or the feet in
stockings, were pedicured;
The steps being
pulled by gravity of lies,
Or sent with the escape
velocity sky high.
The steps taken
yours or mine ain’t same,
Forest & desert
inhabit, but steps, constrained.
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2023