Torn pages
Torn pages from daily dreams and diaries.
They are all scattered on the blue carpet.
Pick up a piece and wet your palm
The color of blue digs deep roots within.
A Sunday is emptied out of an old box
A treasure and a ghost roam and their sighs
You can’t wipe, can’t wipe, from your fogging eyes.
Time lays loose and you shut in the old box.
poddar kushal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/torn-pages-4/
