Roads
We are the roads that sweep into the horizon
Over the foggy hills and by the timeless oceans
The people we meet, are the milestones that pass us by,
The memories we make are the discarded cigarette stubs,
Tossed away once they have run out,
Reminders of the stolen moments
That our lives are made out of.
Like the summer rain that bears down incessantly on dusty roads, time continues to eat away at our hearts — stripping us off the memories that we had collected with every passing day of spring. Like the boxes that children draw on roads and hop across, dissolve with the rain. Until, like the roads, we are revealed in our state of vulnerability.
Until all that remain are the cavities in our souls that we had taught ourselves to forget, spaces we had filled up hurriedly with the dust of our skins.
Showmock Ghosh 2019
