Old Man’s Diary

This diary is now coming to an end,
not much space left for words-
no desire to write either.
In these pages,
I don’t remember much
the brisk flow of words cannot be overlooked-
they are etched until I breathe.

Some pages are torn,
wonder what poignant tale was sketched there…
some words were written frivolously,
some were carried out with scrupulous attention.
words were penned down with formidable weight;
leaving engraving over bundles.

Some I loathe-
Some I cherish-
I look through the pages; perhaps,
I hope to find an overlooked empty or half written page-
like an extinguishing wild fire,
desires to burn again with the gust of wind,
I want to meddle among fallen leaves,
such is desire.

May be,
I will return with spring flowers,
As I am only a mannequin of desires,
paying no heed to reality,
the ink is now dried-
Au Revoir must someone write.