Dark alleys didn’t gather enough light
Upon the jagged stones a man stumbled
A wallet hanging loosely from his hands
Subtle signs of poverty evoked from his skin
He pleaded to his fate to abide with him
And stormed through the pockets of the wallet
Only to grab nothingness on the insides
A shallow voice spoke to him in a rush
‘How good is a wallet without money caressing its pockets?’
And he pondered upon the answer that said
‘It didn’t serve me anymore. It was useless.’
And out went the wallet from his hands
To touch the surface of a damp street
A second glance didn’t walk past his eyes
To meet the wallet that looked like a wasted piece
And he walked away daring to meet his fate further ahead
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A dried up flower flew out from the insides
The one which his hands missed in a hurry
Some forgotten lover once placed it in his palms
In a time when he wasn’t lost and scarcely troubled
He had once sought love from the rose in the wallet
Seeping the beauty of it every moment
Until its colour faded like a burned paper
And disappeared into the shadows of a pocket
A dead love had resided for long in his heart
Until the memory of it was dead too
And now that love was just a dried up rose
Popping out of a torn wallet lying in a lone street.
