Oh how it is so late,
But I have used so many plates.

My grandmother was it’s reason it landed in my hands,
Otherwise it may have gone to the lands!

I enjoy reusing,
It is so sentimental and soothing!

You keep on recycling your
"I'm Sorry"
For new mistakes

And I keep on recycling
"I forgive you"
My always mistake

"Give it back to me"

"But what will you do with it?"

"I will mend it, tend to it,
and when it's beating like a drum
pumping blood, pounding love,
I'll give it to him
who inspires new life into it"

"Hmm...then I'm not giving it back
I can't see your heart beat for another"

"Okay then, keep my dying half
You're killing it anyway
The half you've left me with
is enough for me
and him"

I try and recycle my broken thoughts
To construct a poetry
though most of them stay in drafts
some of them
get to shine

One life's learnings distilled into a book,
The offsetting chartreuse cover
Covered with dust of decades
I seem to have forgotten
Due to my life's coming to a close.
I read the last page, hands filthy
Then drown in a final cleansing
And purification of my life.
The pages detach and evaporate;
The cover floats to a new shore
With its new sky blue hue
And human to master it.