I looked at my whitboard, pitied its condition and took up the task of cleaning it. Easier said that done, for I could not rub off the written text completely and easily.
That got me thinking, what does it take to restore back the clean slate
On my whiteboard
A lot I wrote
Then wiping it clean,
Making it plain
For scribbling on it
again and again
With time,
Stubborn got my writing
Refusing to leave it’s trace
Even when erased
Continued to occupy the surface
Duster amassed layers of ink
Which once upon a time
Had expressed what I think
Even when empty
Even when idle
I could see
The board and the duster
Reflected me
If it has to be me
Why not evolved?
Why not transformed?
You are what you think
You are what you create
And you need a clean duster
To start with a clean slate
Simply me 