The Shoelace

I bend down to trace their path under the bed.
I decide to crawl on my knees to search for them instead.
Hidden in the corner are the hideous little brats.
Torn black shoes that have been there somewhere on the racks,
since I was a brat too.
I have grown up with time that is true.
No longer I struggle to tie my shoelaces,
having greater struggles in store the world of ruthless faces.
While tying the laces a tune once danced on the lips of a child,
in anticipation of a sunny game of football in the wild.
The tune still descends down my lips to walk with me once again,
when I remember those good old sunny days in the blue days of the rain.
Today with tears of nostalgia I take out the shoes from their hiding place.
Once again I play with the memories of the good old days.
I could run many a races in the shoes of mine but I am left behind in the bigger race.
A derisive laugher escapes my throat as I fiddle with the shoelace.