Dream catchers
Cinnamon dust
Satin ribbons
Perfect pie crusts
Fairy tales
Silver chains
I knew of pastels
And purple moon rains
Hill view gardens
Forget me nots
I brought home rabbits
To grand mum’s cot
Bright red murals
Cotton handkerchiefs
I potted a plant
On occupied window sills
Wilted leaves
Crumpled whites
Peeling off pictures
No saying goodbyes
Grand mum’s no more
White and pink are passé
Forgotten blooms
Gardens are blasé
A white rotund moon,
Broken colour pencils
Rusted jewellery
Stories don’t stand still
Flat meringues
Dress ends are frayed
Microbial dust
And bloody nightmares
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amarllyis 
Makes me so nostalgic. Thank you.
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🙂
May I ask about what does it make you nostalgic?
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It makes me nostalgic about my childhood of course. No other biological milestone that I have crossed yet 🙂
Pastels, handkerchiefs, rabbits (yes I had rabbits at home) and crumpled whites in particular, evoke fond memories.
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🙂 That’s nice.
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This made me sad. I don’t know why.
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To be honest, it is sad. 🙂
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Nice one. It has a distinctive flavor of nostalgic melancholia. Although I really don’t know who played with Rabbits in your childhood in a city as crowded as Mumbai 😛 (I certainly didn’t) … But I can relate to the other parts. A question about the very last lines – “microbial dust, and bloody nightmares” – what’s that about??
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You’ll be amazed at how many people did. In Mumbai, yes.
And the poem flips after a point. Everything becomes opposite of what it was at the start. 🙂
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You are damn talented. I guess I am your fan already!
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Haha. Thank you Tejas! 😀
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