by Swetha Ramachandran
[box]Swetha Ramachandran pens a poem on memories and the emotions they evoke.[/box]My window to the world,
rusted and old,
bars of metal,
on a rectangular mould.
Scraps of paper,
peanut shells,
orange seeds
and graffiti filled.
Dust layered,
thick and brown,
with tiny specks,
each having a memory of its own;
Of old women
and young girls,
innocent children
and expecting mothers.
Aroused from sleep,
by a gust of wind,
the memories poke,
like needles and pins.
There’s one that speaks of love,
one of death,
some of hopes,
of greed, hate and jealousy, the rest;
Happy and sad,
short and long,
these memories are born,
in rickety rides; hours long.
Rusted and old,
here’s my window to the world,
that shows glimpses of life,
and reveals emotions untold.
