By: Iman Waqas
The snow gently cascaded down
In a whirl of brilliant vibrant hues
Stroking her face gently as if by a
mother’s hand
Tendrils of hair dancing amok to an
unheard yet sweet melody
Sat in quiet solitude on a dusty bench
Draped with curtains of glittering white
sequins
The only source of color on a clear canvas
Revisiting all her forsaken and forgotten places
Nostalgic over a time long gone
Watched with a kind of wistful amusement
A much younger misty version of herself
Running around with the careless
indifference
And naivety only a child seems to possess
So unaware of the storms yet to materialize
What if the skies never stop pouring?
And the sun never comes out from the clouds
Do you evolve with the changing seasons too?
Following the light down the road fated to
be yours
Or hold onto the charm of old places
Oh, how she wished the clocks would turn
And bring back the familiarity of the perfect
she’d once lived
Cause now faced with the dangerous unknown
Yet still quite incarcerated in the past
And so desperate to hold onto that childish
innocence
She wondered whether all goodbyes are depressing
Or some lead to happy new beginnings
Cause from where she was standing
Sometimes just sometimes
Rereading old novels is better than a new
stack of books
(Image from here.)
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