The clock on the lost wall

Right there,
on the wall of lost time,
sitting is a clock.
Looking through the eyes of time,
everything and everywhere.

There isn’t solace,
but a sadness that keeps getting deeper with time.
If you know and look into it,
you will find it hard to understand.

The petrichor,
the dusky smell of wooden trench,
used long back to make its body.
The rare collection of colors put into it.

Wind in its own acoustic comes to make him feel the lost time,
like a golden memory which cherishes us to laugh and cry at the same time.
It does seem like how the bread of memory pilled with lost time taste.
Maybe there is no other beauty glow like the time.
It keeps the beauty of dusk and dawn,
the sun and moon, the dark and the day, the world and I.

Kasturi | Poem Series | Part 1

Two ends of a sphere,
Me and my Heart.

One lives with me,
one lost
to never found me again.

When I recall sometimes,
of my heart,
a fragrance of ‘Kasturi’ smells everywhere,
when couldn’t find it,
i sit in solace.

In the night,
when memories sears me apart,
i think of my heart.
A heart which could’ve been here now,
but it isn’t here.

Every thought of lost heart,
which comes
with the thoughts of her,
is like the mild wind of summers,
or, like a shade to me,
for I’ve been burning in the sun,
whole my life.

She wasn’t a part of me,
never she was.
I never loved her,
never did she.
I never asked her,
never she said.

But

She never left me,
never she did.
she stays in me,
and in my memory,
Like a masterpiece
of the time.

Kasturi – Meaning ‘Musk’ – Ornamentally “Smell rare to find”.

(To be continued…….)


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