Lock And Key

Day by day, one by one, we lose them all

All those keys of sense and sensibilities
Which we think we own a lot but not
For we are prisoner's of our minds
And let those locks rest and rust

Holding all that is over and done
Safe in those figmental closets
We close more than guard
Unaware of the obvious
That the best in life
For all the good

Is on its way
A little slow
But for sure
Meant to
Come

-R-

Hope

 

"So what does it mean to you?" I asked.

"What?" he asked back.

"This whole sweeping thing" I said.

"You mean this job of mine" he exclaimed.

"Yes, why are you doing it, you don't look well, why don't you stay back home?" I asked him crossly.


"Because there I don't and here I do" he said and smiled.

"Do what?" I asked again.

"I earn" he added with pride.

"So?" I added.

"It means hope"

So said the old man who cleans the park in the morning and swept me away.


-R.