How Is It To Write?

 I wrote this one a year back. Thought I'd write a new New Year poem this time around. But couldn't write something as apt as this one for the kind of year it has gone by. Still, wish you a very Happy New Year. *** The last page of my beloved journal Has always been a clumsy one Words pouring off the margins with A summary of what I lost and won I used to write my achievements And all those roastings I'd collect Days when my crush held my hand And days when she would neglect But today when I'm trying to write My pen's dry and the page's clean Gloom setting in through the whites That's the kind of year it has been Scanning through the previous pages Searching for something to spell Found no memories to be cherished The commonest word being "HELL!" I'm not even being distracted today The journal is the only one to speak to It's been a good friend, holding me up When I thought life's giving me no clue Reluctantly, I set my pen on the sheet...

Blackened and hardened and faded feet and hands and minds. Because that is how success stories are made. *** Blackened feet With no mom to scrub them clean when I get back Blackened feet With no friends to share why they are that black Blackened feet With no earth beneath them to claim of my own Blackened feet With no warm shelter for them I'd call a home Blackened feet With my feetprint slowly waning through the dirt Blackened feet With my wounds and scars that do no longer hurt Blackened feet With the skin around them feeling as if it's not mine Blackened feet With really nothing about me that makes them divine