It began as an idle stroll in the park,
Pleasantly exciting, and an easy way to **** some time
Always away from the house, so even then it had some lure.
The strolls grew long and rambling, often stray and aimless
Leading into waste lands or crowded alleys
We dug them up or plodded along or pointed fingers
Sometimes we struck by beautiful pastures and stood and gazed
Mostly, we just strolled along meaningless paths.
But paths have a way of knowing each other
One stray path circles back to a different one aeons away
We find our footprints, and gaze at them, mesmerized.
The paths turn prettier, some days we know them, others we don’t
But we walk everyday now, our feet itch to step out
We caress our past footprints or make new ones
Hearts in our feet and survival in our step
But all we do is walk, says the world and so did we.
Our paths however crumble and collide and sketch
Our meandering paths have woven their own tapestry
Do I pause to acknowledge or keep walking?