Dusty old memories

By Nisha Kumari

Dusty old memories after a period

reminded the mostly sung melodies

which were once filled in galleries.

A backyard full of pink flowers

used to shower happiness with sweet and sour

every minute and each hour with peace as it’s power.

A big hope of tree

hung with a swing moving free;

agreed not to fell me.

The giggling sounds

with hundred of rounds;

in cottony green ground

mesmerizes my present

with lots of pleasant reminisce.

The hope of tree grew old and stronger than earlier,

the leaves in it arrives merrily every year;

brings a hope of never fear

of falling though you are loosing.

Never give up – just dance in the club

whatever rhythm life plays for you.

By Nisha Kumari