I’ve been reminiscing all those faded memories,
Where your footprints reside,
And they lead me to the garden of cherries
A place, stashed away in my memory guide.
I flip through it’s pages every night
Hoping to relive the divine magic,
We felt, while our hands played under the moon-light
And waved at feelings which you thought, made you allergic.
Inking our fables down with blood
I had wanted the letters not to fade away
Unaware we were of the approaching flood,
Which would melt the guide’s pages like models of clay.
Every astray tear of yours
Was like a holy rill flowing through the cracks
On the book’s cover, decorated with dead flowers
And reeking of unburnt corpses, abandoned in shacks.
Our fates had drifted away too far into the dark,
Making retreat a mere joke.
A joke which Hangs on our bodies like dead bark,
That mocks my heart to have turned broke.
My palms keep fluttering over the guide,
Trying to connect with forgotten memories,
Trapped between the pages that like to hide
And bring back visions from the Garden of cherries.
This is one poem I've always adored more than anything else in my life. It has got a bitter-sweet essence that reminds me of an imperfect past.
