The story I narrate,
Is of the faculty that betrays.
But betrayal rides with men,
Then why oh why, do you treat me like them?
This lady wants to reminiscence her childhood,
But you’re mulish, uncooperative.
She wants to recite her adolescence,
But you strike through her thoughts.
Then she wishes to recount her teenage.
She wants to laugh and cry at once,
Again, you strike off every memory.
And she rejoices over this loss, over this skip.
Nothing to embrace.
No stories to say.
They were inferior, anyway.
But some memories could be ingrained.
She wished she could.
She replays, She tries.
Till it loses its charm, its essence.
So she can recite it to someone,
Or just live them again some day.
So, dearth of memories,
Create a demand for new ones.
And you march in again to erase,
As if it’s a scribble on virgin paper.
Dear memory, you’re not fair.
You bring back bitterness in the quiet,
And hide your sweet side.
You retain what I think least
And misplace my lovely days.