Poetry in emotion

Losing the child in me every passing day

Childhood is lost, memories are turning bleak, and losing it one day at a time

Do you see it?

What?

Shh!

Okay. (In a feeble voice)

Close your eyes.

Closing!

Feel the air! Feel the breeze blowing your face. Feel the chilling effect travelling through your spine!

Do you see it?

Nahhh!

Passing through the lanes, gazing at the school wall, trying to sense the wind. Has something changed?

Do you see the air changing? I feel it, I twirl myself around it. Trying to be in the moment.

Running, running and panting, trying to catch time in hands, but it unwraps and wraps itself again. Twisting like a snake.

The place where I started, I think I have ended the continuity. But life indeed is cyclical. It starts and ends, and again starts.

Takes you on a wild journey to discovering your facets, relationships, beliefs, your first kiss, and your first friends.

The girl that you wanted to talk to, the time you fought with your parents and threatened to leave home, only to return before dark.

A whole lot of mystery, and a whole lot of history, in the tapestry of a memory noir, you weave stories and stylize frames like a moving movie.

Depicting the styles of Neo Realism where truth however uncanny it may look is projected in ways it deserves to be shown.

A still shot is taken of an aeroplane moving in the gap of your bird’s eye view. You try to catch it or see and track it through the vision width.

The bandwidth and the ever-evolving growth of your store of memories can leave you, anytime, any day and anywhere.

Fear is justified, it's okay to be terrified, but dying when you are still alive is a process undignified.

For what are you? What did you gain? All of it is like a wormhole of creation where the contents and its products are created and destroyed again and again by their own parts.

Then a time comes when you destroy the memories yourself.

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