Labrynth Of Memories

By Lakshita Dhiman

Sliding my hand on the wall's rugged grit,

summer's warmth succumbs to a velvety, vitreous flit.

I caress the murals, one by one,

bereaving the fading of chroma, as beauty is undone.

My gaze met the familiar lashes ahead,

vibrant mural hues stained my fingertips red,

just like pomegranate seeds, with colors that have bled.

Another step led waters to wash over my hands,

rinsing away the vibrant stains of yesterday,

leaving my fingertips pale and unmarked in a way.

Ripples on the surface, like memories in my mind,

distorting my reflection, yet revealing a truth I left behind,

in the water's gaze, I see a face so worn,

yet in its depths, a spark of light, a new path is born.

Terrains bare, sole verdure fades,

echoes of life in desolate shades,

renewal's whisper in decay's embrace,

silent path unwinds, new lives trace.

In this barren landscape, I search for a sign,

a glimpse of what's to come, a hint of what's divine.

The wind whispers secrets, of a life yet unknown,

as I wander through shadows, where darkness is made home.

But even in the darkness, a light begins to seep,

a gentle glow that guides me, through the desolate sleep.

And though the path ahead, is shrouded in mist,

I'll follow the spark within, and let it be my wrist.

Yet, I've tried to bury the memories deep,

to let go of the past, and its shadows that creep.

But like the murals on the wall, they remain,

a testament to the heart, and its eternal pain.

For memories, like the tides, they pull me back,

to the shores of yesterday, where love and loss attack.

No matter how I try, to break the chains of time,

memories bring me back, to the cycle's rhyme.

And so I surrender, to the currents of the past,

and let the memories carry me, to the moment that will forever last.

And again I slide my hand on the wall's rugged grit,

a moth consumed by the flame, forever bound to repeat.

By Lakshita Dhiman