Dandelions

I kept dandelions of memories in my pocket But dandelions are never meant to stop growing And their fluffed seeds tumbled from my pocket edges Yellow dandelions bloom have withered long ago In damp brine abyss of my heart For sunrays failed to reach there Seed heads matured to pop-up into hundred tufts I don't know which way each feathery tuft shall blow As winds of time blow from eight directions I never learnt to love lost self of mine The truth that still snarls Hidden within sediments of my emotions Stands and stares with hundred and one questions One more cause the time in which I stand now Shall find place in my pocket That already has weight of hundred seeds I wonder shall I ever own empty pockets As damp ground of my heart Helps their sprout outs at slightest hint of hurt And tap roots affirm their existence in my pockets as dandelions 14/04/2019