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I miss the euphony of birds at dusk’s soft kiss,
Their songs once crowned the Sun in fleeting bliss.
  Memory stirs — a street scene veiled in light,
  A bygone day reborn in twilight’s bite.

The winding road concluded at the tree’s embrace,
Where stood the Red Box, keeper of time’s trace.
  Forged by decree, a carmine sentinel still,
  Now fallen silent on the village hill.

In boyhood’s wanderings down that humble street,
I’d pause and wonder what secrets it might keep.
  I’d peer within when the Postman came to claim —
  Envelopes slipped like whispers with no name.

At dusk, that vision pierced me with its pain —
A relic ruined by wind and rust and rain.
  Creepers wound their wreaths around its frame,
  While lizards skittered, flies laid siege in vain.

One day, they’ll mark it — a relic of our place,
A story sealed in rust and creeping lace.
  Yet when I think of that red box grown old,
  A boy’s soft longing in my chest takes hold.

Time races on — we too shall find release,
And wish that Red Box might just rust in peace.
This poem is a quiet elegy for the ordinary relics of our childhood — a weathered post-box, a fading street, a bird’s forgotten song. In its rust and ruin, I find a memory that outlives time: a boy’s wonder sealed in carmine metal, left to dream beneath creeping vines. May these lines remind us that even the simplest corners of our past deserve a final resting place in the heart.
Alankrit Sharma Jun 2019
That night was dark, cold like frost
So, I went into the dark at a lower cost.
Had something there that I would now not dare,
Because it freaked me out, gave me a scare.

The sky got lost like my body too frail,
I sold myself in the growing gale.
Slowly my body started to fail,
Called my wife to no avail.

Indeed, I realize now in the past that I kept
I haven’t met my wife, since last we slept.
But the pain is becoming too much to bear,
Like a boat in the storm, burning-sear.

Never had a kid but would like one now,
So that I don’t die like a rotten bough.
And the night was dark once again,
Lost myself in a fleeting vain.
Nikki May 2019
I thought it was
The future, waiting on a distant head.
A lush eventuality
Crept towards me in the daylight, permitting me
To see the body behind the face. I imagined it
To be reaching out
And clung to windy weather, assured that
We would meet one another
In the middle.
We never met,
But it stole the sun.
I think the worst of it
Is that you.. forget
Who you were before
Memories slip away
And feelings
Until you're left with this
Vague sense, this innate
Understanding
That you used to be more
You used to be something
With more substance
Than this *ghost

— The End —