Old Diary

things i can t say out load book on green textile
Photo by Ann H on Pexels.com

An old diary 

which was cornered since long

after years

it drew the attention of eyes

which were busy searching the lost soul

As fingers scrolled over the cover page 

layers of dust accumulated on it 

began making queer sketches over it 

the thickness of dust revealed

it is an old charm, so are the memories 

Flipping through the pages

turning them one by one 

reading each page with rapturous enthuse 

like drinking the cold water

after long desert safari 

As moving page by page 

walls around it started crumbling 

blood began to freeze at zero mercury

with no courage to move minus degree

Fingers started trembling 

to face those trapped emotions

shredded through black and red ink 

scattered all over the horizon 

As began picking scattered pieces of soul

one by one in my palm

it began reflecting various colours of life 

like slanting rays passing through the prism

thus making a picturesque rainbow 

Eyes which were busy searching the lost soul

gazed them without blinking the lids 

then liquid melted from the eyes

ran down the cheeks and

fell over the memoirs

and murmured

Oh! you were here…

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