Cross Tracks

I knew I was moving,

but the end was never there,

the act of just moving,

was enough to feel ease,

to feel that with every step of mines,

the basket of bread,

was getting heavier and heavier,

but that dichotomy of burden and pride,

was feeding my despair,

for where was that moment,

when I knew we were here,

where I could leave that basket,

instead of holding it everywhere.

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