A happy past.

I am the diary of a happy past.
I am the carefully wrapped old dusty photograph in a bundle of clothes.
I cannot end the conflicts and displacement.
But I can soothe the bruised hearts.
I become then a happy memory.
I become then a straw they cling at.
They smile by having a glance at me. By stroking me fondly.
I rekindle their hopes.

Reviews

[writ rajat]

very nice poem glad in reading this familiar with condition

[Ayeshaa]

Thank you :)