Confidante

I like talking to walls mostly,
and find mirrors under their skin,
They don’t smile much,
or scowl when I turn,
like a coin waiting on the sidewalk
still on spin,

Their ears are yours alone, for
a moment atleast,
Wail, shout and howl as you may,
these walls haven’t yet learnt,
to stalk your words to the feast,

A feast for strangers,
whose mouths are tongue-less
and hunger wrought ,
gobbling all you say,
not a single morsel dropped,
just another sun,
unborn in the dark,

But how long will it be this time?
before the writing’s washed off the slate
and the wall?

How long before the wall
shall hold again
your mirror as bait?

Your words are naked now,
making their way to all
roads and ears abound

Only because you looked
within and never
without…