In these stains

You seat there,
Called what you are;
Not your choice to be you;
And the paints you wear,
Delude of sunshine to dry your damps;
Irons and bars buried in your ribs;
Called your mouth;
Which you can’t open nor close at will;
At their wills;
It is called your door.

Alas! Here comes another;
Sober and docile like others;
Even the guilty pretend to be with the others.
“Here is your cell”;
The warden preaches the order.
Soothingly, as will pardon you tomorrow.
Don’t shake my lad,
My stained face in body is cold enough;
It will pierce your spine and welcome your tears,
Even the mucus you rob off me:
All live in these stains.

I have been here before you were born.
At your first cry, I heard your sobs.
And I knew you will be here, repeating this wails.
Look through these stains and learn,
There-in memories untold abide - you lean;
Innocent and guilty alike-
Tell their tales, and I listen to their woes.
In these stains, they carried some away.
Staining your streets with warnings:
“don’t follow my path!” they sing still.
In homes, offices and worships their shares fill:
“see the world through these stains”
And you avoid this stench.
Of the Hero’s past……learn!
This shall never be in vain.
Check! Check the corner of that street!
Stains! Stains! Stains heavy memories in fleet;
In the stains resides wisdom.
Yes! In this Stains!