The Past

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A montage of bygones hurries back.
I can’t avoid it at this time of the night.
A long train of irreversible past,
reverberates in my heart.
In the night, the past wants to bite.
Once shining, the past sneers, now tearing
and ravaging its softer remnants,
which were once the happiest tenants
of the secret chambers in me.
That tickled only with her touch,
that danced to the glitter in her oceanic eyes,
and that opened, to accommodate
the gush of sentiments,
she would often give way to,
under my unwavering, affectionate gaze.
The past wants to bite the sight
of normalcy in my existence.
It wants me to remember it,
while it forgets what I go through.
I reminisce the tender of the past only
to allow a flood of loneliness to swamp me.
The past bites.
‘The morning awaits’-
is all, my head tries to register.

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