The blanket embellished with typical artwork.  
Winter nor summer the snippet could hold.
Melancholic memories trail its framework.
Its restricted dimension not developed to unfold.

108 beads of rosary I gained in legacy.
While chanting your name I went on twirling the beads.
What escalated my heart, were the waves of agony
The beads broke down and fell into 108 seeds.  

I do not want the blanket or beads in heritage,
The spark that you left on such abandoned ruins
Which is now pulling the anecdote from wreckage
Just before my eyes memories were stewing.

What to talk on gains that do not rhyme?
Though mortals attains salvation in course of time!

© 2016 Geetha Jayakumar. All rights reserved.