Words fall like broken guitar strings
And ruin our silent harmony of letting go.
The playlists remember,
And the songs play memories we chose to forget.
The night the stars healed our wounds,
They wore different colours,
Lighting up pavements and shop windows
Where we saw unfamiliar faces.
Festoons of delight embraced vacant lands,
We ended silently.
And all we’re made of are memories
Binding us to past days,
When we kissed goodbye to roads
That led us from promised faces from yesterdays.
We left some parts in the roadside hotel
Where the dust storms threaten to wipe them away.
Fall came early
To watch memories fall down from days we grew together,
And gathered them with pitchforks.
We see our memories now
As clouds gathered in our skylines,
With promise of snow in winter.
Well, it has been more than a year since I’ve made a blog post. I don’t know what came over me. There was no apparent reason why I stopped posting, just like life. You don’t always find the right answers, just some musings and faint hopes of revival.
Roses scatter on dusty roads
Where we’ve left glimpses
Of a past remembered like tail lamps
Glowing, fleeting past, forgotten soon.
The nights now run off into alleys
Where old streetcars sigh in their sleep.
The roses once stared from confined apartments
And we stared at their reflection on glass panes.
Morning will sweep away the roses into gutters,
And they will be dust, dust
Pouring over days we’d promised
To each other.
The clocks tell us of times past,
And the roses show us paths.
We’ve once walked together.
I was nominated by Vinitha for the daily quote challenge. I have shared two of my favourite quotes in the past few days and today is the last one. I had a tough time in trying to figure out what quote to post. But finally I chose this one as it reminds us all of a past forgotten and left alone. And we are nothing without our past..:-)
Please follow Vinitha’s blog on https://vinithasp.wordpress.com/
“We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except the memory of the smell of smoke, and the presumption that once our eyes watered.”
-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
I would like to nominate
- Melinda Kuscera