Rough Surfaces Poem by Pradeep Dhavakumar

Harsh, rough and uneven like a saw,
Is the street outside with dust and stones;
They always prick my feet, cut my skin,
Never treat me like one of their own.

Polished, silky and sparkling clean,
Is the soft marble inside my room;
They scratch me not or hinder my path,
Treat me like a young, opulent groom.

But when in hours of shadow-less being,
When the feet are weak and bleed tears;
It’s the rough surfaces that hold me strong,
While the marble topples me- to despair.