Sunday, 22 August 2010

Sole Stories

Feet tread along oft trodden streets
Amidst the city’s blare, slippers beat
Into the dusty grounds of kuccha roads
Past rows of static cars and bright signboards.

Feet: lost shoe, torn chappal,
Stop for a rest beneath a signal.
Scorching sun burns the sole
Slowly working its way into the soul.

The heart beats slower and slower,
The sari gives shade as eyes lower.
But the feet have to tread on
Into the dusk, from the dawn.

Feet wander aimlessly through the day
But cannot find, in wandering, a solace.
Heat works its way into the sole
And slowly the walking stops.

2 comments:

Susan Deborah said...

Lovely play of words. The pun on sole was almost like talking of the human soul ravished by time and bad weather.

Joy always,
Susan

indi said...

"Heat works its way into the sole
And slowly the walking stops."

What wit, Sayu. Love it! You're poems are so...neat.