I carry ghosts in my bag
Of people I once knew
And loved
Some long forgotten and others still fresh
Like that tiny drop of morning dew on a single blade of grass
Now and then they raise their heads
That dry wild flower with strains of the perfume I never liked
That little ‘kerchief, the colour of which I never fancied
That wooden pen from Ooty I never wrote with
And they tease me into a smile
I carry ghosts in my bag.
Photo courtesy: phoenikhs
I LOVE this.. It is how I feel about absolutely everything I own.. All just ghosts :)
ReplyDelete@navycut: Thanks a bunch! :)
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