Rusty Hands

The sun plays with the shadows to create contrast on the hands of an old man.

Rusty hands after a day hard

Dusty roads, his home is apart

On the hard trails of the life’s boulevard

It is a journey that the day

Skins earn wrinkles as the days pass

Colors change on the trees and the face

Dripping down the spine, the sweat

Making him conscious of his efforts at last

It is a journey everyone takes

For some it is not as clear as a day

Bruises to pay

Sleepless nights stay

It is how the life is they say

But why not for everyone? Who am I to say?

Can’t there be a way to share lanes

On the roads so wide they own within.

Why does these rust need to stay

Some time to wash is all I say

Why can’t there be?

What more do we need to see?

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