memories

sometime,
as i walk on the fallen leaves of dry winter
the whole backyard crackles with old conversations, old memories
of laughters, tears, tussles, this and that and many

…

as i return back

i pick up some of them from the air
and carry them with me as forgotten whispers

(whispers, hoarse with rheumatism of time)

---

at such time,

as if by magic,

i always find love limping beside me

---

someone once had said

whenever we think of love

there always starts a magic in the air