Discarded memories turn to deride
Some forgotten ones on a back-bench day,
They starve on futile, hostile roses
Those grow too late and before no days
Come to pass…pass by any longer…
Nauseous guilt and choked repentance,
And the memories lost run on
Rain adrenaline alone,
The raw, wet hive of sweet ignorance,
Thrive on a frozen besotted pillow—
An attic avalanche,
Despondent to soulful, tearful eyes
And resplendent to the ashes turned to dust,
When memories go senile…
But I shall be good, I shall love
I shall be kind and faithful at last.
When the winters will plead
The trees to protect the earth from cold
Under their swath of leaves
I shall come back
Brighter than gold
And sing to you forever
Of tales untold.
A carved name still embellishes
This bark of our old mango tree
That reminiscently falls through air and lands
Safely on its own swath of wrinkled leaves
Now crunched to mere dirt in their wind-games,
A race to the top of this Hill,
A good father’s pledge, a good nurse’s creed
And all that was left of good wills...
When all is lost in a burnt page,
When I can merely sit and pray---
Let them be good, let them love
Let them be kind and faithful at last…
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