Stoically, the school kid marches in his shining black shoes
Brushed vigorously by a doting maid the previous night
He sees a puddle, side-steps it smartly, groans -
Wishing his new shoes weren’t so tight
The old beggar spots the waiting car
He shuffles towards it, begging bowl in hand
One brown, one grey shoe shod on each foot
He stops a while to shake out some sand
The demure girl wraps her shawl tightly around her
Shivering and exhaling sharply after taking off her dainty heels
The marble stairs of the temple are as cold as they could be
Upon reaching the idols, she bows her head and kneels
The new employee walks into the swanky office sheepishly
Aware that all eyes were upon his ‘formal’ threadbare shoes
He stumbles, grunts an apology to no one in particular
Walks as if on a tightrope, keeping his ears open for any boos
The waif-thin model looked disdainfully at her muddy feet
The dreadful rains had wreaked havoc in the city,
Her car pulled over, she had to sprint to her swish apartment
Mentally making a note to diss the pricey stilettos – what a pity!
The ‘holy’ man - forehead smeared with vermilion, walked barefooted
Chanting trance-like, surrounded by a devoted crowd
The stone floor felt coarse against the soles of his feet,
He counted the minutes till he retired to his room, where unbeknownst to all - shoes were allowed
The soldier glided with his fellow comrades, a soft song on his lips
He clasped his rifle closer to his chest, the enemy border was in plain sight
He cast a grateful look at his hardy black combat boots
Invincible they were. but the next day they were torn by a bullet, and made for a gory sight
He dropped to his knees - blood gushing freely from the raw wound
Realization hit him - the contract of military boots had made the coffers of a procurement minister full
The shoes, once invincible, were no longer so, and as he knelt, another bullet ripped his chest
He breathed his last - nothing could save him - not his wife's memory, nor his child's pull
The shoe wept at its sore misery
His words I recount – a mere emissary
He said – ‘We are guardians - we keep you clean and warm
We are also fighters, keep you dry, and protect you from bodily harm
Despite that, not one word of gratitude does anyone mutter
Much as we’d want to, outside every temple, we’re discarded like items from the gutter.
While all these hurt, all these grouses we will happily lay to rest
If our patience weren’t so put to the test
Being hurled at lowly ministers is the most demeaning for us
Have a heart - keep us away from them - we deserve some much-needed rest
We can do without this demeaning, this insult - we don't need any thanks
Pray - stop hurling us at politicians - stop treating us like common skanks'...
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