•The Attic•

I live in present. Present lives in the house. This present will become past after some time. But this doesn't mean that it will be forgotten. I go to the attic. It is the showcase of pasts. I see an old toy car with which I played when I was 5. I see a drawing book in which I painted when I was 9. I see my first bat I got when I was 14. I see shaver by which I shaved for the first time when I was 19. I found the lost duplicate key of my bike I bought when I was 27. I see many presents turning into pasts. I have visited the stories of past that plays one by one, attacking me with nostalgia, the memories. I don't want to go deep because I will be lost. Light evening sunshine is passing through a small hole. Evening vibes are hitting me. This evening is an evening to remember. This is one of the pasts to remember, too in the attic. I will write this in a page and will paste it in the walls of attic, as this will become a past and then after years, I will again write about this past.

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Posting "love you maa" when it's not mother's day.— % &

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Bake the love in oven and
eat the parchment paper after it.

This is how love will taste
when it will leave.

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©aalekh

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Writing a song becomes easy when you're a poet.

Becoming a song is easy when you write about poets.

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Writing poems is like
making your own signature.

You hold the pen and
begin to write chaos,

and it soon turns
into your identity.

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I write as if today is
my last day to live.

And I live everyday
to write about the
last day I would live.

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"My last Chapati is always yours"~ Mom.

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•Seems Like I'm healing•

//Caption

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