Saturday

Memories


To Vivek,
for being such a great senior.



My brain holds them back,

like a shiny quarter,
trapped and enmeshed,
in a thousand torn ligaments.

My clutches are weary,
and my past, a heavy spear,
gone clean through my soul,
I must take it off.

I thrive upon it's fading gleam,
and yet it blinds me,
it keeps getting in the way,
of my tomorrow.

They keep calling me,
and I wish they would cease,
for the way is long,
and more voices need birth.




3 comments:

Chit said...

Uubergut

Sagar said...

Chit~What does that mean?

Sagar said...

Chit~Thanks :-)

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