It's Not Much

It's not much.

Just dusting away some cobwebs

Covering my life.

No

It ain't much.

Just cleaning the rusted parts of a long-forgotten heart.

What it feels like,

If you ask,

Like running through the grassy fields

(Just like you used to do)

On sunny Sunday morns...

(A long time back)

Like you woke up from a deep-deep sleep,

And found everything the same...

(except yourself)

Like you skipped your life,

Had no time to live.

But now that you do...

You have forgotten how

to feel,

to think,

to love...

(Can you tell me please, how to live?)

No place alas!

That can fix my rusted heart.

Its leaden parts go click-click-click

Everyday...

Waiting for them to fit right,

Someday...

But, for now,

I keep on sweeping the debris away.

(And they keep on coming back...

Jamming my heart.)

Cleaning away, everyday...

But, then again,

It's not much.

(Is it?)