These memories beat inside me like a second heart, refusing to wipe off from the screenof time and space.
On the life bed I stir and memories rise out like buzz of flies from ugly rotten carcass.
These memories are worst than bullets as they fly with loquacious indifference and propensity and hitting in ferocious speed, deadlier than death.
At times it's a black night punching with cruelty. Other times it's a white night occupying my space. I never forget the rainbows that ravenously came to eat up the dark nights.
These memories are of peakcock significance and at times they are of wolves significance.
Burden of memories! Burden of history! Why coming without my permission and afflicting like the ancient Egyptian plagues?