Relics

A Poem

Wondering about in the dusty barn

Out while the sun set up to rise,

I found back pieces of forgotten history.

A displaced picture in black and white,

The dusty plume of a holiday hat

And the rusty blade of a long-forgotten cutlass

Among Many other many beautiful things of vivid memories.

The occasion was hard yet simple

The trip rather very hard from the latter.

On the last moments, I saw

A puckered old face to remember

Which once did pass not so soon after

And out came up my bottle and trap

The muffled sounds of the walls of the barn

In which lay cold and barren

The left out things of old.

And as I passed the last of the heaps

A lonely drip slithered down from within.

Kaushik Das

11th of May 2016

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