Fragmented Thoughts on a Rainy Day

soap suds on basins wash the stains
on table clothes and old curtains
showered on jackets and handkerchiefs
such toil a necessity without flowing water

others wash off not at all
like stains of areca nuts on chemise
spatters from betel chew stays on for always
akin to scars of deep stab wounds

words written on healing scabs
are such unwashables, ink stains go deep
or tattooes on unwilling rear ends
like boot prints when one is expelled

there is a need to keep on scrubbing
all stains, betel chew or spilled blood
my tutu is drooped for lack of twirls
my thoughts anchored on tap dancing

I am swinging on a tired pendulum
going back and forth counting down
or up which one suits one most
a motivation that fluctuates

Can you make me dance again
can I be a Hillary climbing up Everest
do I still wake up your muses to amuse...
its raining hard here I see nothing but ghosts.