Monday, November 10, 2014

The shackles of the past

Memories of days gone by,
The triumphs of old, grudges of the past,
Hold me down, bog me down to what was,
What could have been, but didn't pass.

The people, who are all dead and gone,
The events, long transpired,
Hold me down, like quicksand, 
sinking deeper into the mire.

Each day is life born anew,
with glorious promise for the future.
Where is the child in me, that exclaimed,
at every flower that bloomed, in wonder?

Dinesh Gopalan
10 November, 2014

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