The dust suffocates me sometimes,
Then I realize, I’m no flesh and bones.
I was an object – that spoke once,
When the world was old.
Now I lie at a corner as a show,
To feed your nostalgia that boasts.
The memories of war, love, peace;
All that I bore within my keys,
Are unknown to this world
That holds the old with contempt,
And the new with false pride.
My old friend died two years back,
Since then I am craving for a touch,
That I miss, so much.
I can feel his touch and emotions,
That once flowed through his veins
To his fingers and walked miles
With this old friend,
But now so lone and cold.
The first love letter that he wrote,
Those words still linger within me,
But no one can see them –
As they lost there sight,
Blinded by the light.
I now wish to be sold, But I realize
Over time I lost my lusture,
Hidden behind this enormous door,
An obsolete, Typewriter.
~ Debashish Sarkar
Kolkata, India
Nice nostalgia with the typewriter which is conspicuous by its absence now!
It may be in a corner or amidst the debris, but our mind is reluctant to forget its role and association with us!
And we are not ready to part with it- its intrinsic value, only we are aware of, and others can’t understand that relationship!
Thanks for reading ?