Born to collect
the pieces.
As time went by,
the puzzle pieces were mixed.
Mixed with misses
Missed with mixes
The boy grew up.
Grew up to be a man.
The man
took out the pieces.
And matched them
on a empty canvas.
Puzzled them
on the wrong places.
Finally,
he named it
a memory.
Submission for BTL Summer Edition. [Mistake]. 2013.
What I want to say in this poem, is that memories are changing. It's getting bigger or smaller, or more beautiful, or more cruel. It's the mess of puzzle pieces. However, though we can't remember those pieces exactly, memory beautiful as it is, like an art.
What I want to say in this poem, is that memories are changing. It's getting bigger or smaller, or more beautiful, or more cruel. It's the mess of puzzle pieces. However, though we can't remember those pieces exactly, memory beautiful as it is, like an art.
No comments:
Post a Comment