Memories dont need a wide time span or space,
Mementoes are they, to the remembering mind.
Some wane away slowly for a short time gap:
Come crowding back,to charge the grey cells .
A room, a spot on a wall or a cry from afar, can tick us back,
Boomerang those varied memories, to cling on to man.
One cannot run past or trample with memories,
Once embedded in mind, they refuse to budge.
Wounds heal,with some embalming memories :
Sounds strange, though they
are shockingly true.
Lonely,lost, discarded old age often seeks :
Lovingly they gather some enchanting memories.
Memories are what memories do for mind:
Memoirs keep piling devoid of despite or agony.
Panacea is it to the fading green horizon, called mind:
Menace are they, to all weary sinners.