I have already lived many lives,
many new beginnings and
just as many ends.
I am reborn many a times; each
from the old ashes.
a birth, a whole new cycle;
a death, a silence of promises beyond.
All that I carry are the
remnants of a handful of moist memories
like a dry, old, forlorn leaf,
kept inside the pages of a book for ages,
and now all it contains,
is a colorless skeleton presence.
I keep that leaf
in between the lines of my poem,
among the layers of my smooth melodies,
some or may be just one of you
would recognize its long forgotten, lost color