Language Of The Forgotten Objects

By Harmeet Kaur

In the attic’s hushed and dusty retreat,

I find stories untold and memories, bittersweet.

A treasure trove of moments lie there curled,

The language of objects from a forgotten world.

A shriveled photograph, its edges frayed,

Murmurs of a love that could never fade.

In amberish hues, a tale of the past gone by,

Unveiling more than what meets the eye.

A journal, its pages foxed and worn,

Ink-drenched confessions of a soul once torn.

Words etched with warmth, a heart laid bare,

A testament to a tragic love affair.

A tattered map, its directions now faded,

Recalling the adventures it once aided.

Journeys that were full of laughter and fun,

Unveiling echoes of the travels well done.

A withered letter with teardrop stains,

Reminiscences of the sweet nostalgic rains.

In the ink's caress, the love still resides,

Tucked away in a delicate surprise.

A silent story, each object conveys,

Giving voice to the long forgotten days.

In whispers of the past, the melodies so faint,

Recalling dances and laughter so quaint.

Let’s pause and listen, our hearts in tune,

To the desires of the objects in a warm cocoon.

For within their embrace, a tale will unfold,

The symphony of memories, a story untold.

By Harmeet Kaur