sometimes it is like travelling
on a penrose staircase.
To be honest, it is so
I have been here innumerably so –
sometimes naked, sometimes in torn clothes
and sometimes in stolen ones,
but each time it has been the same.
progress is an illusion,
a whip that keeps me moving
un-mindful of where –
until i reach back here again.
I daresay it feels like home
but it does –
unwanted, unsafe, unloved, devoid
of warmth and nudity that a home entails.
for forever too, I will return
here, again and again
and it will be the same
tear and the same reason.
but, why must I?
Don’t forget to share on your favorite Social Media platform using the buttons below if you like it !!