The light bounces off an old chest in the corner,
A thick film of dust adorns it, sparkling in the sun,
Outlines of the once beautiful craving dot the top,
And all but one of the handles remains on the side.
Years of neglect has turned this treasure trove so,
But today this would reveal its contents,
As this hand shall dust off the years from this chest.
The cloth quickly turns brown from white,
Nothing that a flick of the hand can’t cure,
Slowly but steadily the grime dirt starts to come off,
Thus showing the intricate cuts beneath.
Inside it are the remains of the world that was.
Little pieces of history that have a story to tell.
The smell of once crisp pages overpowers me,
Rendering me oblivious to the world that surrounds this body.
I can sense the hands that once flowed over these pages,
Firm yet gentle, determined yet unsure,
The ink has faded but still the story lingers,
Of lost dreams, and the unknown future,
Of deep thoughts, and deeper feelings.
As I read them, I get to know why they were hidden away,
Locked away from the world in the corner,
The truth is not for me to uncover,
Digging up old skeletons would lead only to more pain,
So, I put them back, for someone else to make the decision.
