Tenderness in crisis

I tried to look through the window

Of a moving bus

A faint looking face with a body that resembles

Unquestioning the work

Small glass of tiny heights

Efforts to hold such glasses in those insignificant hands

Bare less as the slippers speaks

Seasons remains hardly meaningful

Crowd gathers and leaves like me

The same little hand extends with a grace unknown

Hope seeks to survive in a fancy

History unknown and stories untold

Memories betrayed in a sudden bolt of crisis

To end up in a struggle among masses

Fugitive cares with sympathy

In a state of rightful inheritance

The upbringing of distinct infancy

From the world where dogs struggles a space with others.