Micro PoetryMusingsPoetry

His Shoes

Walking in his shoes for a mile, can’t move further from bitter sweat he has in his socks from knees to toes.

I keep judging his snail pace to survival like an umpire in a court giving verdict on errors.

The route was crystal clear in my head until I journey his path clouded with veil of nothing and sans.

I hope I cry and smile with him after this strenuous journey congested with fogs and never judge an inch of his struggle whether am in his shoes or not.

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