A Walking Life

Chongtham Ronikumar

A knock at the door;
I hide behind my own words,
yet footsteps return.

Again, the same plea;
an empty hand reaches out
alongside emotional weights!

Coins change more than hands;
customs and obligations
write their own laws.

A smile disappears;
between duty and hunger,
the heart hesitates.

Rules without faces,
old promises still unpaid,
remain to be in the air
for a long time later.