The canopies swiftly dangled with
the gushing winds
the leaves followed their way,
but the plum fruits hanging on the top
dropped down with a sway,
I wondered if the
green tops remembered me by my name,
as I'd fall again
and
again, since I failed miserably at the game,
I pondered if the blue airspace
remembered my secrets,
as that expanse
solitarily provided them
worthy treatments,
I left-
as these asinine musings
vanished into the gale,
I worried
about the deafening muddles
which prevailed,
but now,
An epiphany arose
reminiscing the loss,
not of
my childhood
nor of the gleeful days,
but of the ardour,
that imposed them remarkable,
I lost bits of myself,
on this
denarian rove,
and buried these shreds with a honed shove,
the lost ardour
is lost forever,
do broken souvenirs,
ever get remembered?

-Riya