Over the years, carried this baggage,
Kept heaping , till I lost all strength.
Now, my back's aching,
And my stuff's leaking.
There're grudges scattered on the floor.
Dont wanna pick them...
Ah! I can always earn'em more.
Oh! ya! the good times..Perfumed paper,
Stuck in the thorns.
Not that perfect..can leave'em like this,
Evanescent and Torn.
Those colored ribbons, flying in the air,
My wishes!!...Too high! Unreachable!
Alas! I'll miss their every layer.
Scare-crow! in the garbage can!
Thats my pain...Still such a snob!
Like hell!! I never want him back again!
I'm looking at the horizon.
Tired of collecting all the junk.
My junk, my 'life'.
Will rest in peace now.
...a poem i wrote sometime back..
4 comments:
jst want to confirm wats baggage here refers to..like the poem and my fav line is the first line 3rd para
"Oh! ya! the good times..Perfumed paper,
Stuck in the thorns."
didnt kno u wrote that amazing girl.
thanx, its good to hear that...the baggage is the pile of your past...which should be done away with, if you want to truly enjoy your present...
n d pic is cool too
thanx again :)
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