There lives a man, a mender
Of the shoes, never tender,
Angry as they pour!
There lives a man, an expert
Of the lost art, really hurt
At injustices galore!
“Be it a hooked specimen, or one numbingly stinking
One that didn’t seem to be one, a sad paltry poor thing.
Be it the one that had been nailed before twice,
Or the one, in which too shortly, there lived a mice.
The one which had trod a mile more than a camel,
Or the one leaking muck (more often than a mammal!)
Oh! I have seen all kinds, all sweaty states of these,
And Oh! I have bound, and sewed and clogged
And nailed, and still do as much as I please.
But a thing that hurts and duly stings, a secret full of grief
I will tell you the saddest truth, and I swear I’ll be brief.
I must tell you (Who else I would? You seem a lad, you do!) –
I do, Sir, mend and make and nail, but I haven’t got a shoe!”
I wrote this to cheer up my friend (Kaku!) He felt the contrary! Do tell me what you feel. And also if you want, read a new short story I’ve written, The Bridge-Keeper:
Once upon a time a boy decided to die. It was a brave decision, a product of poignant propositions and grim persuasions. Achilles knew he would die young which made living a tad less complex to him. This boy was to end his complexities too. There was no Patroclus here who had been killed, there was no Briseis here who had been wronged, and there was no glory here after death. Yet it seemed to him the only answer..