JIBAN GOSWAMI

Rookie - 64 Points (23rd November,1951 / Guwahati, Assam, India)

My backpack is all that I have


My backpack is filled with used memories
As I trudge down the lonely road time charted for me.
Friends and lovers come and go
Our roads go together for a tiny while
Before time hollers, ' That is enough
now you go your separate ways'.
I started alone and alone I'll reach
Where the road's end is marked by my waiting grave.
Of all that I met on my way ahead
Only my backpack carries some tiny specks.
Crossroads abound, filled with fun and sound
I pick up their nuggets into my pack
But one way roads only lead from them
Barred to me, as they are for other souls.
I can see my grave simmer through the dusts of future
I slacken my pace and try to look back
but the road I came by has totally vanished
Only my backpack holds some of its traces.

Submitted: Thursday, August 07, 2014
Edited: Saturday, September 13, 2014

Topic of this poem: life


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  • Gold Star - 17,091 Points Akhtar Jawad (9/13/2014 4:05:00 AM)

    I can see my grave simmer through the dusts of future
    I slacken my pace and try to look back
    but the road I came by has totally vanished
    Only my backpack holds some of its traces.
    Nice and lovely. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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