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There are certain colours in the world that dogs can't see.
There's a dog in my neighbourhood,
Always alone,
Always sitting patiently,
As if he's waiting for something, or someone.
They say he ran away from his home on his own.
He couldn't sit and he couldn't sleep.
So he ran as far away as he could.
Now he waits to see if they were ever looking.
If one day, around the corner will come a face he recognises.
But he is the one who chose this solitary wait,
And he completes it dutifully.
All the people that live nearby call him to their houses,
All of them want to give him a home.
Give him what he lost, what he has long forgotten.
But how do you expect a street dog to love?
How is he meant to move on,
From all he knew?
They can bathe him and feed him and cherish and love him.
But under his fur,
His heart still beats,
For a soul his mind has left behind.
You fight long enough, you forget what to do with clean hands.
You run long enough, you forget how to rest.
Some things, cannot be.
Some colours, a dog will never see.

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