Out of the archives, the box of trinkets
Came crumbling, like a withered leaf
A yellow-stained paper and blotted ink
A few words visible, the font meek,
Not forgotten.
A sharp memory-pain, shot through
Like thorns of bougainvillea sliding past your skin.
Forcing like slithers of sunrays,
And in murky rains, be swamped
To leave the mark of that memory,
On a letter with no stamp.
-
Known to all, from the book of
Knowledge,
Knives could be sharp
Kettles could be hot.
Knowing this fact, people still sought
Knives to touch at the sharp end
Kettle to touch at the bottom heat.
Knowledge is power they say out loud
Knowing though, experience is a teacher, many sought.-
My home.
And made yours, mine.
For you, I left behind
My dreams.
And made yours, mine.
For you, I left behind
My self.
Because you made me
What I wasn't then.
And now, you marvel at my thoughts
Because, you are among them
Never to be left behind.-
The past lay bare
Naked in her eyes;
The new journey was about to begin.-
You were fascinated by
The dyes of blue on my eyelids.
Now, I look upto the milky way
To find that hue to glue it back
So you could find the shine and be
Fascinated yet again.
-
I heard your voice, calling me near
But when I turned, you weren't here.-
I turned the page to find your quote,
The blank page stared - weren't you there?
-
The sun looked like moon today
Fog surrounded and obscured the view
Putting the observer in doubt
What time of the day was it?
The morning surely wasn't usual
Though the sun kept his promise
Filling in like a staunch disciple of light
With a purpose of stealing the darkness
As usual.
The fog was smarter though
Coming in fleetingly with winds of change
Obscuring the hard workers routines
As if they didn't exist.
The sun still stood, in his own expanse
Knowing like the sage;
His time would come in the day
Where fog would disappear
As fleetingly as it had arrived.
The day belonged to him,
He knew.-