a tribute to ordinary

there is nothing about the circles of a fan, the flight of leaves, or in a bird's wings
nothing in hairy thighs, a sweaty spine, thirsty lips, and underarms
in the bumps of a road, in roti or ghee, or me
that screams of extraordinary
the only thing that screams are my insides, trying to deal with the sheer simplicity of who i am
funny, but not too little not too much
occasionally melancholic occasionally kind occasionally nothing
ambitious and lazy, lazy and driven
where do we drive to?
look at my face, i say to the mirror
so ordinary, i sigh
worried about such surface things, this ordinary mind
occasionally a flicker of fire occasionally a snowflake occasionally a dew
but more often than not, just an ordinary you
as ordinary as toothpaste on a toothbrush in my mouth
once in the morning once at night
on Monday, another face in the crowd
it could melt me away
another one at work, am i a cog in the wheel?
am i enough?
my silly typing speed, my silly ways of showing love, my slippery steps
oh, so ordinary
my fondness for black or carrots or rice
nothing that the world hasn't seen before
my words nothing but a nice shake, of everything i've ever learnt or heard
your day begins and ends
so silently
so solemnly
it comes and goes
and you sit by the window
zooming out, i see
so many others like you
if i forget you, would i ever recognise you?