I walk alone, at times
No, not because I don’t have people to walk with me
(though that’s partly the cause too)
But I walk, at times.
Without telling anyone, I get up
Leaving my sweat soaked pillow and satin smooth sheets
Nudging my way out of my room
My room- a plethora of nightmares and seething emptiness (of dreams, air and the like)
I walk ahead. Destination unknown
The morning air gently nuzzling my dry cheeks
Making awkward twists and turns around my messy hair
A dull shiver. And a cough.
I increase my pace. Farther than the shops
Bustling with sleepy salesmen and haggling women
Farther than the Barber, eyeing me suspiciously while he trims a boy’s curly locks
I stop at the dark alleys, snaking their way away from the hustle and urban din
I stop, fatigued and my cheeks flushed with exertion.
I touch the walls, black, damp and rough
I trace the cracks leading to those crevices
I smell the air, of stagnant water and flowing spirit
I trace the brook, flowing nonchalantly behind.
I stop and prop myself near the edge. Sinking my calloused feet in. A cool shiver runs down
I skim stones through the surface
I make origami swans with the paper I bought.
At least my swans are free
They don’t have a home to return to.
My swans eye me, quizzically
Shall I accompany them? Destination unknown?
I decide against it
Because running away is never an option,
At least not a glorious one.
Hence I tread back, with heavy steps
Glancing back, occasionally
The alley beckoning me, to come back someday
And that someday will come.
My swans would see me someday.