bits of chronicled garbage
pile of filthy trash
scattered all around the area
hills and mounds of unborn agenda
feel like sweeping it all clean
burning them all, where do i begin
dried leaves of an abandoned great summers
messy crumpled and unused bonds of papers
electric fans’ blades resting at the far corner
diplomas of heroes hanging in a lazy cluster
litters of menthol cold candy wrappers
empty boxes of bath soaps used by actors
immaculate run-down panty shields under the bed
damaged and forsaken biscuit boxes left for dead
golden counts of unused tooth brushes smudged by time
under the kitchen cabinet hiding from a crime
carved cockroach bite on destitute boxes of English pasta
dozens old magazines fossilized by a forgotten era
now a fallen iron these rusty guns on the floor
these might have killed a thousand and a lot more
these killing bullets of yore should have exploded then
so nothing from the past could be used for the present
these olden things of ancient times, these stuffs and belongings
garbage for others, a memory for some, a treasure for the keepers
stories behind them were not known to many
let time decides their future, their saga, their continuing story…
