Published March 12, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

He dragged a little harder,
And rubbed his feet
Against the ground,
He dragged a little harshly,
And held on the support
A little too tightly,
He folded his palm,
The fist was strong and round,
And white as snow,
He grabbed the crutches
And didn’t let go,
He held the stick
Which now holds
His legs,
And once again,
He moved with vigour,
He walked with roughness,
Coupled with a little harshness.
But know what?
He did walk,
And he walked miles
In those crutches
He now calls his shoes.


11 comments on “Miles.

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