One usual evening,

Sun not yet set.

lit up windows,

floating in the air.

Trees reaching out their arms,

To grip the sky.

To pull over the blanket,

From horizon to up high.

Lying on such a floating,

But unlit window,

I found a key.

The key to the closet of my thoughts.

I thought of all that scattered,

On the floor of time,

And all that well stacked,

On the memory shelves.

The lamp of wisdom,

That flickered more often than not.

Bottles of smiles, loaf of pranks.

And the book of stupidity.

The chair of serene peace,

the couch of warm friends.

Tea poi of promises,

With cups of everlasting trust.

Wardrobe of warm happy suits,

A few thrown lonely socks.

T-shirts of jokes and quotes,

The ever growing pants.

The drawer filled,

With fragrance of love.

A small kerchief of tears,

An album of colourful moments.

A pen missing,

The pen of present.

Tucked in my pocket,

Use it to fill the closet.

I smiled, and placed the key back,

On the unlit floating window.

The trees rested their stretched arms,

They had pulled the blanket over.

                                                         …Shiv.