i rose from torn rags

i rose from torn rags

give me your names and I will write someday
what my heart knows exists but cannot feel
with words hopeless, scattered letters on a canvas
like poor substitutes for what they're in vain,
words. just words. vain words. actions slain.

let me hear the sound of your deeds
grow louder than empty barrels that wasn't mine to believe
so i laid still like a rag ready to be used
the same old rag that wipes your feet
for you to be able to walk again, happily perhaps,
away from me, like a polished shoe from the shoeshine

i wished you could see me through
the dirge that accompany your lies
i wished you could see through
the dirt under which i lie
so i let you pick me up, every sunday morn
to wipe clean your dirty feet
from many wanton wanderings
i took them in, the pebbles and the dust,
the ugly odour of sweat and dust
never let them stick to your shoe, because it's you

because it's your feet diseased with cow dung
rooting in the dirt of puddles sole deep
rotting fodder at the soul of your feet
unpicked, i lay still until another morning
knobbly and black from constant wipes,
lying under a bridge of your empty words
hoping the waters of my tears would wash me away
before you return home again

i can only hide these rag things through
to make you stay and let me be
to wipe your feet again and live happily
but i realized rags can be washed
so much the brown of me shall be refined black
and i too, though in heart decay
can find salvation from unrequited love,

so i wrote me a poem about us
a reminder to fallen flowers that wilt
at the touch of summer sun,

that i rose from torn rags

#Pengician #SSA

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