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Detour

The dews of floating memories lie threadbare.
A spoonful, a handful , a palm full of pixie dust,
Can it keep me afloat?
The "I" in me has been struggling to breathe,
It's been constantly shown what it disbelieves.
"Is it so easy to undo memories?", A prudent laughter jerks me out of my photo album.
A feeble breath escapes forming loops of realisations,
The miniscule laughter of a gap toothed girl stares at me ,
Her eyes seem to question what have you made out of yourself!
I am not alive to undo what has been a part of me.
I might have outgrown my sleeves, but haven't yet outgrown what has always been me.
The lessons that grandpa vowed by still run in my veins,
The aroma of grandma's dishes still linger in the dishes I cook,
The cracking sound of my rusty cycle comes alive as I run my finger on my scarred ankle.
The warmth of maa's caresses still keep the old knitted muffler warm.
This is what makes me sans who I pretend to be.
The Shiulis of my garden has taught me this,
There's an October in each of us,
That teaches us acceptance.
Part of us would suffer the test of time, yet a vibrant part would always be drenched in the sweet fragrance of memories.
Autumn has bid it's opulence, the harsh winter would be soon unleashing it's wrath
October, benign as always is preparing us to be warm
To not undo but to hold on,
To hold on to those moments which are beautiful
To hold onto people who keep you at ease
To hold on to those things which make me more me and less you
A detour, as I see it.

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