A whiff of a memory
A nugget, no more
Opens flood-gates of sorts
To the glorious days of yore
Tis an addiction my love
Of the very worst kind
The present’s a bastard
Crushed by your wandering mind
Like holding sand in your fist
Like caging warm sunshine
Like trying to preserve bubbles
Nostalgia’s a futile past-time
The past may well be a frog
Only Prince from remote
Yes, it offers a bitter sweetness
Of lost young dreams and old love-notes
Richness of a mirage-like past
Will paint a drab today and morrow
So beware of this craving, my loveliness
Tis the road to inexplicable sorrow
Amazing as always.
ReplyDeleteDid not get the title though.. would be an interesting choice?
You write beautifully. And even better when it's poetry.
ReplyDeleteIf I have your permission, I'll post this on twitter.
@Yogesh - the title and poem in a way is inspired by the Woody Allen movie - Midnight in Paris. Watch it if you can, it's a nice one. And thanks :)
ReplyDelete@Neha - Thanks :) Sure, you can post it. I would be flattered.
Wow - What lines !
ReplyDeleteLoved this one...
The past may well be a frog
Only Prince from remote
Thanks Kandarp :)
ReplyDeleteThanks K :)
ReplyDelete"Richness of a mirage-like past
ReplyDeleteWill paint a drab today and morrow"
i like this, though i dont want to :)