We are dented with memories
like the utensils in a kitchen.
Each speaks of it's own glory and depth
crying out to pick it up for rumination.
Recounted hundreds of times,
past is exhaustive.It is tiring to
add more fillers over years , as the
mind struggles to remember anything.
The essence in us is slowly
formed out of the new age things as
the green on bronze show pieces.
Our lives are filled with an urge
like that of an inflated balloon
containing lot of nothing
within a beautiful design.