Baggage

What to do with my past?
Days and years stacked up
Tight like a black mold-
It's heavy. How should I go
Carrying it around?

I heard someone made a
Vegetable garden out of
His fifty years old baggage
To feed the stray cows all
The reap.

Someone I know switched
To smelting and his furnaces
Now produce cheap knives,
That weap in the battlefield
To show solidarity.

I keep fiddling with mine
Against my poor,
Entrepreneurial skills-

Sometimes it becomes
The dog feed and other times,
A factory that processes
Cattle skin.

My half-hearted efforts
Don't stick to one particular thing.
And the piled-up-unsold-shit,
Rots and stinks.

Maybe it was always meant
To be manure.
Maybe I've to rework on
My USP to sell it to the guy
Who grows vegetables.