Souvenir

A caravan of memories

Blurred by abundance of passing time

travels through my mind

constant, without any ease.

Whenever the push is more

I cocoon myself in desperation.

Isolating and crying over it

Sometimes cherished by its fragrance

But lately I'm in lose,

far from any radiance.

Always despised the idea

of being in it.

But life has peppers and salts

It would drive my caravan

Just like the passing time

Without sugars, candies or a drink of wine.

Do they reside in me

or I reside in them?

Either way I'm living

not ideal

Firstly, building my own caravan

Later being crushed under its wheels.