22 Springs Later
22 Springs Later
Dear me,
At fifty,
Things may not be easy,
Nor straight,
Nor as planned.
Smoothening out wrinkled pages
Of diaries that date back
To moments in the present,
As carefully pressed
Dried roses pop out
Leaving old fragrances lingering
Your hands could tremble,
Heart might beat faster
And your moistened eyes
May lit up,
To find how
Time has kept all its promises,
And you have broken all of yours.
Only to win a race
Against time,
A race that
Allows you to read this today
22 springs later.