Some memories reminds us of a melody,
It encapsulates us in its lovely cocoon,
Woven of silk and threads of maroon.
It pulls us to its core, and pampers
Just like a baby caressed by her mother,
Wishing her to smile in peace and lull.
It swings us on its lap, singing.
Unaware we dance in its tune,
Rejoice; being sorrow immune.
Some memories are like songs of separation,
It plays with a thud and bouts of despair
Eyes weep, hearts cringe, and longs a repair.
It breaks down the youth in us,
And makes us feel, breathless.
The lump in the throat that it forms,
Slowly and quietly transforms, engulfs.
Memories are like tiny droplets of water on a string,
Some falls apart as soon as formed, at the rim.
some refusing to leave, remain really very long,
others refusing to leave drift away with time; along.
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Comments about this poem (MEMORIES by Anupa Subramanian )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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