Depending on one's idea of struggle,
Life, it seems, is a journey to acquire
cleaner, spacious washrooms -
wherein there are no multiple cheap soap bars
clinging to each other
but soap dispensers.
Wherein the big window that had
half a glass missing
covered with polythene,
displays blinds now.
Wherein the water
brimming inside the bucket
one played with the distorted image of one's arm,
comes out these days in the shape of artificial rain.
Cleaner,
spacious washrooms, however,
have one defect.
No matter how long you bathe in them
they don't cleanse the sores of conscience.
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