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
Copyright © Purbasha Roy | Year Posted 2019
|