The abir got washed from the hand; it was red in color.

First darker, then lighter, then pale, then nothing.

Have you felt the color of memory?

At first, it was darker, then lighter, then paler…

nothing doesn’t exist…

The abir doesn’t exist; the colored soft dust drained away.

The water though had left a filtered sprinkle on the white sink.

Have you felt the presence of memory?

The days wind away leaving a mark, a pattern 

an abstract one it is.

The path that was seems to be forgotten;

The road that seems to get obsolete–

All this time were (and are) there.

Only thing we agonized, 

We overthought

We pressurized ourselves.

Have you felt the color of memory?

Have you felt the presence of memories?

We deny our feelings,

We indulge in purchased satisfaction–

Lethal most of the time…

We coagulate ourselves; offering us to forever–

In form of dark corner, in form of the withdraw.

The abir got washed from the hand; it was red in color.

First darker, then lighter, then pale, then…

Dedicated to Her

Daily Prompts: Pattern

 

 

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