Like an old painting
Covered with dust
I stand. Hooked on the walls of
False beliefs, misunderstandings, superstitions;
Years overs years, dust drapes me
Fading my beauty, once joyed by all.
Trying my best to unhook myself,
Shake the dust off.
Am unable to do so….
Helpless on the walls, I am hooked.
Dust shadows me;
an outline only visible
Marking my existence!
An old poem. Written on 12th June, 1986, resurfaced in an attic box. What surprises me, Existence was my query even then. Still at it! 🙂