The shrill of the alarm,
Early in the morning,
The coffee stain on his favourite shirt,
Which led to a fated meeting.
The scar on her old, wrinkled knee,
Remnant of her carefree days,
The black eye which he wore with pride,
Always ready to defend his sister's case.
The love song on the radio,
Which she always used to hum,
Now lyrics don't mean as they used to,
The melody haunts him when he keeps mum.
The ugly scars on the solider's back,
The shameful scars on her wrist,
Both speak of a hundred things,
Yet we could only procure a gist.
The late night call from mother,
Reminds to take everyday medicines,
Home doesn't seem so far away,
When it's the heart that people reside within.
They are what you make,
They make memories better or worse,
The reminders are etched on our souls,
For some they're a boon, for some they're a curse.
***
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PoetryA spark that fades, Just as you touch it, yet, Illuminating all shades. Fleeting and transitory, Still it manages, To convey a story. Highest ranking till date: #13 in poetry (4/12/16)
