Monday, February 13, 2017


Some yesterdays,
we sat together
on a rickety age old chair
made of teak wood,
treacherously balanced
by our uneven weights,
sharing little tidbits,
browsing the galleries that held
our picture-perfect kodak moments.
The ever responsible you
had warned me about
the splinters
I might get
and the madcap that I am
I unheeded,
laughed off your caution,
and sat right beside you.
Caught up in simplicity
of such moments,
we attempted to
fathom our complexities.
The chair sits empty today,
forsaken and gathering dust.
The keepsake
breathes our laughter.
And I can't bring myself
to chuck out the relic.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers


  1. our lives are made of those relics we can't bear to throw out

  2. That is lovely... maybe you should add the picture that prompted the poem?

    1. Thank you so much Dale. Will try to insert the picture and update the post.

  3. This is truly poignant.. sad, yet beautiful.


Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.