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
but
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.
Rarely,
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.