Missing an identical fit, this
jagged piece of a jigsaw puzzle,
stones to step sans a solicit,
preferential to the haughty prime;
a prankster in the night time...
Elevating for ages, free of cost,
she’s forever eluded Robert Frost,
on the ‘stairs unclimbed’,
he, thankfully, hasn’t rhymed!
On continual forays, up and down,
she bears toil without a frown;
while a ladder would slide away,
she stays: my stone staircase…
Funny how I don’t think of high or low,
nothing except where I want to go,
an ego-buster of the manic me;
simplest approach to one’s destiny,
one of immaculate reality;
I have with me, my consonant query,
I ask why: Why our wilted working class,
she chooses to personify…
Trod on by feet, red, black and brown,
colour-blindness, counting up to her crown;
her generosity flushes my face,
as she still stays: my stone staircase…
(I felt her kindness needed a say, if not
a hefty pay: so I wrote this song,
than a line or a phrase for her grace)
because she stays: my stone staircase…
