Soles… weathered

I wore my sneakers
like a potion of love
struggled through rough
crossroads and sweated
through sweet-sour years…

Yeah, bittersweet moments
of yesteryears; trodded paths
camouflagged with sweet-smelling
roses, but got pricked so telling
I could only grit my teeth.

All the while, my sneakers
kept their quiet; they are
my silent witnesses…
they comfort my sore soul.

Confidante, yes they are
cushioning my eminent fall
absorbing all the pains
from pointed, sharp stones.

Even in their own years
with their fading sweet smell
and flaking brown skin,
they stood by me till dawn.

They have grown old with grace
and I thought I’d be at par
with this ‘showmanship’
and resilience of theirs.

I have yet to pick a lesson
or two from the stories
embedded in their
weathered soles.

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