They are all mine,
But some pieces of memory.
My heartbeats are,
But a little remembrance of theirs.
All I caged into one.
One small photograph.
For a photograph is said,
To capture time within it.
All our smiles, odd colourful costumes,
Slightly younger faces than now,
And the pride of us,
All standing together,
All caged!
Days went by soon, one after the other,
The faded calendar says so.
But the photograph on my desk witnessed all.
Like I untied myself from the cage,
From all bounds,
It too started the same.
Same like me, the small efforts went unseen.
And one morning I woke up,
To find it broken.
The glass broken, had patterns too and sharp edges.
All broken still collected as one,
It still had my emotions intact.
The photograph still couldn't come out,
Out of the broken,
Like I still couldn't fly.
Something still pulled me back, doesn't it?
But why did it all happen?
For a dream, which I have believed to be vague.
Of I killing my beloved one.
That I fired two bullets in his chest,
Tearing it apart and bleeding to death.
And then I cried,
Of the thought of right doing and wrong doing.
But, I desperately wanted to heal him,
Back to life.
Back with me.
May be, somewhere out of the wild,
For breaking my caged memory, my treasures,
I had nothing to lose
But to **** you.