untitled

like those colorful doors of a dilapidated palace bombed in a war decades ago.
and abandoned thereafter.
we have remained shut for so long now.
that we have forgotten how we too could open, on hinges rusted and tired.
and let the light of a day pass by.
winds and rains too if that isn't too much.
no one wants to talk about what we were meant to be.
the new kids have more walls to play with. with incomplete paintings of the other side.
done by amusing circus animals freed only to entertain a desolate crowd.
they cannot open the doors. they don't even know if these exist.
we are walls now. time has painted us white. the color of quiet.
and we are lost. even to ourselves. why are there remains of a war, always ?