Sometimes we sit on the steps
To tie our shoe-laces and smell
The jasmine creeper on a wall.
We go down steps one by one.

We shall see a shaving mirror
In third floor with no man in it
And the bacca bucci shoes box
Its inside shoes gone walking.

Lift  dozes off between floors
Its inside fan forgot its circles
Two years ago on a dark night.
Lift mosquitoes make the buzz
Like the headlines in the news
Lying before the sleeping door.

Milk bags lie on the first floor
For a coffee  inside a  kitchen.
Concerned door bears a lock.
Coffee drinker is in a kitchen
A few thousand  miles away.

Like darkness in the staircase
We cannot solve our gridlocks
But we sure tie our shoelaces,
Ready to take necessary steps.


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