Author:
Rest in Peace the Old me…
As I enter the room, my eyes search for the old rusty box which my parents had kept safely before moving out.
If I could name a soul
I would name her without thought
t’s a Sunday morn
When I sat in a corner
And I sit
And wonder,
Why there is hate born
When the slate was pure?
I weave myself up,
The pieces might fit in somewhere…
When her heart,
Went from red to black
In seconds,
Longing for the winds,
I breathe
As I enter the room, my eyes search for the old rusty box which my parents had kept safely before moving out.
Mumma’s one hug
And it still makes my day!
She Was Beautiful From The Inside.