Heavy

I am walking
As if I am
A little too fond
Of gravity,
With my arms
Shaking and going
Numb under
The weight
Of everything
I am supposed
To memorise,
And my shoulders
Aching beneath
The ugly straps
Of a heavy bag,
Housing a
Huge, discontinued
From the market,
Shabby laptop,
Yet not spacious
Enough to hold
The books
In my arms,
So when a tiny
Pencil that I
Use as a bookmark,
Falls out of
One of the books,
And someone
Not too far away
Informs me about it,
My mind completely
Falls apart!
I bend down,
Slowly and with
A great difficulty,
To pick it up,
And begrudgingly
Thank the stranger
Who had ensured
That I would not
Even try to ignore
The soft thud of
A pencil that small—
He reminds me
Of the way
This world works…
We carry our weight,
All on our own,
Holding on to it
Lest we lose
Our way;
Forced to carry
All of it,
And not allowed
A chance to drop
Any of it off,
Not allowed
A chance
To be a little lost.

©Aaysid

“You remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.
Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?”
Anne Carson

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