Moving unseeingly, towards a destination,
Planned by the nobody, nudging you along,
With a walking stick, you despise the urgency.
You leave black footprints, down the route,
You should have avoided, taking at all.
A glace from a familiar face, you always detect,
The need behind this casual exchange,
But refuse to notice, refuse to care.
Claustrophobic veering, rotating chaotically,
Tripping over your feet, whenever you glance upwards.
When your black footprints, steadily turn white,
You know it is time, to walk back through the shade,
Habituate it, wait, as the darkness steeps in.