A drop of dried ketchup on his shirt
Like a frozen idea
He tries scratching
Carefully first, then rigorously
Some of it comes out
Like hope in a desperate situation
Yet, it does not seem to end.
Contempt, in an empty world.
No one is watching,
He is his still worried
He pinches, twists and jerks
To remove the spot
And looks around
The world seems to be moving on
With a slight nod
He gets up,
Carefree and light
He too moves on.
⁃ Akubha
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