Listen to the sound of memories
as water gushes against rocks,
on the seashore Or, touch them,
with your grey, pale, wrinkled fingertips
as you brush away dust off tangible, priceless pieces. They will wither into ashes slowly,
But, for once, they’ll spring back to life
turning back the dial of a clogged clock. Reminiscing feelings,
on seashores, in sunsets,
on long nights, in monochromes.
— it heavily rains.
– Kabir Malik