By Swati Joshi
There are things that I lost
but there are things that I found
while stepping on the same ground again.
I am not a replica of someone I admire
nor am I a pretentious fool.
I just like to share my memories.
Just how you like to showcase
those pictures in a wooden frame
at the bedside.
It is the touch of reality.
I may never be able to embrace someone wholly again.
I may never be able to smile so recklessly again.
I may not want to indulge in your deviltry again.
But I found peace at the footsteps of
Introspection’s stone.
The music in my mind is mending all
the maliciousness of the heart.
Now I want to pine for the silence that follows
the end of the sonnet.
I can only leave flowers on your window sill,
you may keep or throw them away.
I haven’t lost the human touch.
I have lost yearning for it.
I will live for the sound of breeze.
Already can see my previous possessions freeze.
The things that I found
shall help
in walking new grounds.
By Swati Joshi
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