By Roshni Rao
And when the folds of our life will crease too much,
We shall try to smoothen it with roughened palms,
Certain ends will still stay wrinkled,
And we shall wonder,
Whether things will ever straighten up for us again.
But there is a story tucked under each fold,
And every crease carries a memory
Soft and painful,
Dreary and full of mirth,
Tender and sorrowful,
Days will come,
We will try to wring the cloth of memory hard,
Allowing it to dry under the warm breath of the sun,
We shall count the creases then,
Just like we count our blessings,
And our hearts will shimmer for granting us,
One more day to live,
One more chance to witness another glorious sunrise.