Under Forget Me Not Skies

By Dr Smita Anand Sriwastav

With a caged bird fluttering in frenzy within ribcage confines, my pulse a crescendo of racing minutes on the double within parameters of grey matter dungeons and its psychedelic corridors thoughts indulge in role play molting wizened skin of memories, they spin confabulations like moonbeams spun on skeleton boughs of palash in autumnal penury. nostalgia is like withered, icteric autumn leaves, turned into rancid humus, and reminiscences remain like sunburnt and denuded apostles of fall, empty handed and quiet like haunted graveyards,

the cinnamon breeze is carefree and amnesic yet aromatic with deja vu, as bankrupt memories seek to fill pockets with counterfeit anecdotes gathered like wildflowers. familiarity breeds strangeness, as faces once dear now sneer with aloofness and contempt, loneliness lurks like twilight silhouettes on street corners and crossroads of existence, yesterdays are like mist wrapped winter dawns half forgotten as though erased like letters from a blackboard, and tomorrow is a phantasm scary and obscure, that bleaches todays of memories making them ambiguous, as I live life blundering blindfolded remembrances transient as sakura and thoughts treacherous, my mind a sieve unable to grasp the sand grains of filtering anamnesis...

By Dr Smita Anand Sriwastav