A Broach

I was holding a broach on my palm The golden broach was a tiny beautiful one. With stones carved in it, nine of those. Those are sparkling with forgotten moments of wishful mind. Those are not loosely placed, neither those are misplaced They are where they should be, those sparkling gems! Worldly muse, enchanting love, befitting depth of maturity A ray overshadows everything, like a sun lights up the sky. Yesterday holds tomorrow’s hand, and on a walking path The present felt a deep sadness of those long lost glitters of life. “ It’s a beautiful gift”, her little fingers touched those stones, carefully.