My Dirty Room . . . . .

It was always so

nothing at its place

the walls are scribbled

the floor is dusty

but the door, so grand

so beautiful

as if all lied behind it was from heaven

all adored the door

all abhorred the room

I liked it anyway

from my unmade bed

I loved it,

loved it for its door

loved it, for it was untidy

with hope to tidy it up

whatever I tried, all went in vain

it returned to itself again

so I asked why to take the pain

my country is like my room

untidy still loved by country men

the door for sure is grand

we all hope to tidy it up

but then why all the pain

after all everything goes down the drain.

all though it has always been so

I will clean my room

yes the ink on wall is too dark to wipe

and the ceiling is too high to clear the cobwebs

there are billions of books

to set up right

the bed is not in use

so it can wait

if not all that

I can always start with the floor

to make my room a heaven behind the grand door.