Yesterday

By Shreya Ghoshmitra

With each passing day

we remember a little less

than yesterday.

The jokes

become less funny

and the sorrows,

a bit less painful.

The visuals fade away

and the sounds disappear

into oblivion.

But touch,

it has a memory of its own.

Each stroke unfolds

a new tale.

Each peck opens

to a portal,

that nourishes memories,

magnified and uninterrupted.

And as the days wear on,

the caresses

plunge further inside,

expanding their roots

that rupture the skin,

splashing blood all over,

until one fine day,

when the body ceases to exist

and the memories fall

into a dark pit,

losing its way back home.

By Shreya Ghoshmitra