Time leaves its indelible
mark on everyone and everything. We become attached to objects that helped
shape our life or sometimes even changed its course. These objects fall into
disuse as others take priority over them and are left somewhere, forgotten and
neglected—silent witnesses to past glories.
Here is a poem of mine,
which was meant to evoke the nostalgia of a past lost to us forever.
THE PROUD NEEDLE
It boasted once
A slender figure
It crafted quilts
And wondrous things
With time it tired
Of frantic hands
It curved and bent
And lost its lustre
A mighty sunny winter day
A casual throw of a hand
Consigned a best companion
To a lake's fathomless depths
No comments:
Post a Comment