ROOP REKHA BHASKAR
Doormat - Poem by ROOP REKHA BHASKAR
You leave your footstep with an imprint.
Regardless I’m lined and padded with dust and grime.
You wipe and scour your shoe to shine,
Stamp me with sand and scraps, which is apparent.
You wipe, you rub, and you prod your stiletto heels.
The Nikes and the Adidas, suffocate me with their spikes.
You even dare sometimes, to wheel your grubby bike
And place black tracks, impossible to conceal.
Big feet, tiny feet, some old and heavy ones too.
No soul bothers, wonders, scans or peek a glance at me.
Though I’m pleased to sense the baby feet, slump softly with glee;
And sit tentatively on my compact coat, to watch all pass through.
I’m tired and forlorn, by the end of each day.
The summer makes it ruthless; Yet, I cannot back away.
I’m cold and wet when the train of rain boots stride. Alas! None seems to know my strain.
I sit and converse with the door, waiting for the next pair of feet to reign.
But the day I’m washed and put to dry.
Each one groans and moans for me.
“Where is the mat …the door mat? – All cry,
Was it dragged by the dog in its playful spree? ’
The housewife, her chores are doubled for today.
I sigh….. I beam and comprehend -
I’m wanted, I’m part of family ….I’m their treasured display.
I’m the dusty savior, the second important focus after the door key,
Is my beige rug with WELCOME signed in red, all over me.
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