Oldie
Who is that? An old friend?
My old friend?
But she looks so much older
That handmade drape
With peacocks and curlicues,
Was a sight in her age.
Her deep red color,
Was now faded and dusty,
And her wrinkles spoke volumes…
She spoke to me in my own words,
We revisited old castles and huts
That we dreamt together and giggled,
We were so stupid then and girly!
Our cheeks flushed red:
the kind of red that only old memories
And old friends have!
I recalled how I used to go on and on
Rambled on at times, in sadness and in joy,
And she just stood with eager eyes,
And a patient smile, saying,
‘Go on!’
Oh, how much I have changed,
And she is still the same…
Sitting across from me,
with damp and yellow pages,
waiting for me to pour my heart out
Dear Old Diary! You are precious!
